Elgaren Dar Dorf: Ghosts of the Grey
by Raven Jadewolfe
Summary: A fiery, blunt spoken apostate is saved from the wrath of the Templars by a man who says he can free her from the Chantry and the Circle. The catch? She must join the Grey Wardens in order to enjoy her freedom. Language/Lemons/Violence OOC   COMPLETE
1. Prologue

**Um okay kiddies, this is the story that took over after I got stuck on Griffon's Rising. I hope you enjoy.**

**I own nothing copyrighted.**

"Everybody run!" a voice fraught with panic startles a woman from her exhausted slumber, "Templars! Templars have found us!"

The apostate blearily glances around the meager encampment for a few seconds before she grabs her pack and her bare feet begin carrying her across the muddy terrain. As she runs, a blocky white head belonging to a canine that is actually too big to be carried, pokes up out from under the ragged canvas flap of the bag and emits a worried whine. The girl, even though she is nearly choking on her own panic, pats the mabari pups nose affectionately. "It's going to be alright pup, I won't ever let them hurt you."

Just then, a shadowy giant clad in metal materializes in her peripheral, but is immediately swarmed with vegetation that dances under her whispered commands. When she is confident of the Templar's containment, she breezes by his inert form and away from the growing blaze that is eating away the camp that had been her home for the last two months.

**I'm writing it out and posting it the way it came to me, so the chapters will vary in length. Beam me a review and tell me what you think :-)**


	2. Chapter 1

**Nope, still don't own.**

Something warm, rough, and wet pulls the hedge mage out of her uneasy doze. She nearly bats the pup away from her face until she remembers that they are currently perched in the upper branches of an old pine tree.

_Better than being dead, or worse, collared and dragged off to the tower where your kind are beaten into submission_ she thinks to herself as she brushes a lock of silver white hair out of her eyes and shrugs on the battered backpack. Seeing his mistress do this, the gangly mabari yips at her until she leans down enough for him to dive head first into the bag. She can't help but smile when he barks his readiness to go.

With the grace that comes natural to all forest dwellers, the apostate shimmies down the thick trunk, then takes a moment to stretch the weariness from her limbs as her companion hops after a chipmunk.

"Breakfast first then, I take it?" she chuckles at the wriggling white stub that is now peeking out from under a large fern before she begins picking her way through the bracken, "Unless you want to waste your time on a meal that is long gone?"

The pup wriggles out with a huff of defeat and prances after his friend, pointedly ignoring the violet eyes that mirthfully follow him.

She expertly gathers berries, nuts, and a few roots for the pair to dine on as they make their way down the mountain side while doing her best not to contemplate what the Templars had done to her camp mates. It's a wasted effort though, every apostate knows what happens if the Templars catch you. _If you yield, you get locked in a tower for the rest of your life. If you fight them, you die. All you can do is keep running and pray to whatever deity you believe in that you won't be caught._

Too preoccupied with her dark thoughts, the woman foolishly disregards the warning growl of the war hound until it is much too late.

"Well well, what do we have here?" an armored terror asks in a cocky tone as he blocks her path, "A little unusual for a pretty girl to be this far from the village, isn't it?"

Immediately her blood turns to ice as the man's mana draining power begins to sap her strength away. She does her best to affix a blank mask on her face and, despite the scream of agony threatening to tear itself out of her chest, she curls her burgundy lips into a soft smile. "I've been out collecting herbs for my grandmother, she makes her living selling medicinal remedies but can't walk very well anymore. Would you like to see them?"

The man leers at her in such a way that makes her want to gag as he saunters ever closer. "What kind of medicines does she make sweetheart? You see, I've been stationed out in the middle of nowhere for a very long time and I've got this horrible burning sensation right here," he waves a hand towards his nethers to make his point.

Still resisting the urge to purge her breakfast, the girl opts to play dumb, "It's probably chaffing, on account of your heavy armor. Boil elfroot and aloe down until it is a thick paste, then apply it three times a day for one week and it should do the trick Ser."

The Templar pauses only a few steps away, "Now this can be done the easy way or the hard way, you knife eared slut. Just know that I like it the hard way, so feel free to scream."

Before she has a chance to react, she is driven to her knees by a smite. Her head swims with pain, her mind barely registering the world around her, until the injured keening or her mabari snaps everything back into focus.

With little thought for anything but saving her four legged friend and escaping, she lets out a scream and struggles to force away the hands that are tearing at her clothes. The man draws back a gauntleted fist to strike her, but her handfinds purchase on a broken stick, which she jams through the slit in his helm. The Templar roars and slaps his hands over the wound, but it only serves to drive the wood deeper into his skull and he falls over, twitching.

"I'm not a fucking elf," she mumbles, then leans over and expunges the contents of her stomach. Afterwards, she kicks the massive body off of her legs and collapses in a heap until a plaintive whine captures her attention.

"Oh no, are you okay?" she whispers as the pale canine vainly attempts to make himself small enough to fit in her lap. Like a doting mother, she fusses over the battered but unbroken pup, and curses her moment of inattention when she has to heal a few badly bruised ribs.

Sadly, only a few peaceful minutes tick by before the mage nudges her friend off of his improvised bed and forces herself to her feet. With a grimace of disgust rippling over her features, she quickly searches the corpse and his belongings for anything useful before setting it aflame and shouldering her noticeably heavier bag, made so in part by the long sword that is now tethered to it.

Feeling the cool wisps in the air, she pauses to wrap her feet in strips of the Templars cloak, and is nearly done with her task when an older human, wielding a longsword that glows an icy blue, bursts out of the forest. "Are you inj-?" is all he manages to get out before a blast hits him square in the chest and he crumples to the ground.

Drawing her father's dagger, the woman creeps forward, her war hound at her side. _If I don't kill him now, I'll have more Templars on me than a Chantry on First Day_ she steels her resolves as she levels the tip of her blade at his heart.

Right as she raises her weapon to strike the lethal blow, the man's eyes open and he rolls out of the path of her dagger. She spins around to blast him again, but pauses when she notices that his hands are up in surrender. "Aneth ara lethallan, I mean you no harm. Do you understand me?"

She instinctively covers the angeled tip of one exposed ear, then nods, "I understand you...but I'm not Dalish and they would probably kill you if you tried to tell them otherwise."

His dark eyes flicker with confusion, but nods nevertheless, "My name is Duncan, of the Grey Wardens. I was traveling just east of here when I heard you scream. By the looks of that corpse's armor and your posture, I'm going to venture out and assume that you are an apostate. I can help you with this, if you will allow me."

**show me some love guys :-)**


	3. Chapter 2

**I know these chapters of kind of short, but I've learned not to force these things lol**

**No ownage by me.**

The woman's silvery tresses, knocked loose from their braid during her fight with the Templar, nearly brush the ground as she shakes her head and snorts out a humorless chuckle, "And why would a Grey Warden want to aid an apostate? Is there a reward out for me or something?"

Slowly Duncan rises out of his crouch and picks a twig from his salt and pepper hued beard before answering, "Because if you are conscripted into my order, neither the Templars nor the Circle of Magi have any authority over you. And before you say no, realize that more Templars are coming this way and they will not look kindly upon a rogue mage killing one of their own, even if it was in self defense."

"How do I know that this isn't some elaborate trick they cooked up just to take my kind down? For all I know of you, you could merely be some hired hand they're using to flush us out."

His soulful orbs meet hers as he covers his heart with his right fist, "I swear on my honor, the honor of the Grey Wardens, and my very life itself that I speak nothing but the truth to you my lady."

Her words are hesitant to come as she looks away, caught between accepting his offer or going through with her original plan and killing him, when the tremors of hoof beats reverberate through her wool clad feet. With a wild look in her eyes, she turns back to the Warden, "No shackles, no collars, and no Templars?"

"No, I promise you," his tone is almost desperate in it's sincerity, "All you have to do is join me."

"Alright, I'll go with you," she sighs and sheaths her dagger, "But my dog stays with me."

"Of course," Duncan chortles despite the gravity of the situation and bends down to retrieve his own blade, "It would be much easier however, if I knew the name of my newest recruit."

"I'm Lynx. The big furball here is Spiorad," she replies with a shadow of a smile as she strokes her companions head, "It means spirit in the Chasind tongue."

"A fitting name," the elder Warden warrnly admits as the pup licks his hand in way of greeting, then slides his cloak off and drapes it over the woman's shoulders, "This will help convince them, I hope. I'd give you my spare boots too, if they had any chance of fitting you."

"I'm fine, I haven't worn a proper set of shoes since I was a child," Lynx responds with a little more bite than she'd intended and hurries to smooth things over before the man has time to change his mind about helping her, "Sorry if I sound rude, it's just that the life of an apostate is not easy on anyone, especially children, we grow up to be more cynical than people who became apostate's at a much older age."

"I can scarcely imagine," he muses, growing serious as voices are carried to them on the breeze, "They've arrived. Stand behind me, keep your hood up, and make sure Spiorad stays quiet."

Five men on sturdy war horses gallop into view before she can answer and come to a restless halt when they notice the impromptu pyre. "You there travelers, what is the meaning of this?"

Lynx rapidly glosses over the charred area in search of any bones or chunks of armor that could be recognized and relaxes slightly when she can see none. Her savior, on the other hand, seems to be in complete control of the situation as she scurries up to where he stands before the mounted warriors. "My name is Duncan, Commander of the Grey Wardens who reside here in Ferelden, and this is Lynx, our most recent addition. We were using an old hunting path to shave some time off of our journey to Ostagar when we came across the fire a short time ago."

"There is a dangerous group of apostates loose in the surrounding hillside Commander," a burly man with a jagged scar on his forehead confesses, "They killed almost a dozen of my men in their escape last night. How long has your recruit been traveling with you? I sense magic wafting off of them and must ask."

Duncan raises one thick eyebrow in question, then chuckles, "Almost a week we have been traveling together. She was panhandling homemade medicines on the road just west of Redcliffe. It must not have been a very lucrative business, since she tried to cut my purse strings as I was browsing another merchants wares. Instead of handing her over for a hanging, I conscripted her into my service. Feel free to have Ser Perth verify this if you need more validation."

Upon hearing the knight's name, the Templar appears to accept Duncan's words at face value. "There won't be any need for that Ser, Grey Wardens are as honorable as the king claims, in my books, just be on your guard until you quit the forest."

"Thank you Ser, I will. May the Maker watch over you," the Warden declares as the men salute and kick their steeds into a gallop.

When they're gone, Lynx silently follows Duncan down a separate trail, Spiorad happily trailing along after them, but is unable to let go of her pensiveness until the thudding of hooves is long a memory.

Hours pass by quietly, until Duncan stops alongside a shallow stream and removes his pack, "We will stay here for the night. I will catch us some dinner if you wouldn't mind getting us a fire going."

The hedge mage nods her assent and signals for her mabari to begin collecting sticks and branches from around the area while she she strips the cloak and foot wrappings off. Spiorad has a nice pile by the time she is ready to help. Not wanting to seem lazy though, she rifles through the few contents of her bags and extracts the bundle of berries, roots, and herbs she had wrapped in leaves earlier, then wants to cry when she discovers that the old helm she'd used as a cooking pot is absent. After scanning the clearing and not finding a suitable substitute, she gives in and pads over to the tattered canvas bag that belongs to the Warden Commander and pries the flap of it open. Luckily there is a small metal pot resting near the top.

"What are you doing?" Duncan's voice calls out from behind as she reaches for it, causing the woman to yelp and toss the bag away from her.

"I didn't take anything, I swear," she vehemently exclaims, "I lost my cooking pot during the raid and was hoping you had one so I could start on dinner."

The man's weathered face crinkles a little as a smiles curls his lips upward, "That's fine with me. There are two bowls and a few utensils stored in the pot as well. How does fish stew sound?"

Too shocked to answer verbally, Lynx bobs her head in acceptance as the man produces a crossbow bolt with three fat fish speared on it. Spiorad, having no such trouble, begins dancing around him in delight, yipping his excitement over the menu.

As Duncan chooses a semi flat rock to de-scale and de-bone the fish, Lynx retrieves the pot from his bag and starts on the stew, but her eyes frequently wander back to the man who'd saved her life.

**Who else gets the feeling that Duncan is finding this funny as hell?**


	4. Chapter 3

**Hugs to all who have subscribed and/or reviewed :-)**

**Bioware owns all things Dragon Age, I just play with them.**

Two days later, and now a tad sore from the dual weapons training Duncan had insisted upon, Lynx is led through a massive cluster of ruins that the Commander proclaims to be their destination. Unfortunately for the apostate, the king of Ferelden himself has ventured out to greet the pair. She does her best to remain inconspicuous as the men talk-the amount of Templars roaming about the camp being a big motivator-but the sovereign seems delightfully oblivious to her desire to remain unseen.

"So Duncan, this must be the recruit you were so keen on collecting before the battle," the man flashes her a smile that some would find irresistible, but the gesture rolls off Lynx like water on oilskin, "And an elf too! What alienage do you hail from, if I may ask?"

Snippets of her father's horror stories about the squalor city elves have to endure to simply survive among the humans forces the woman's hands into tight fists," Actually I was grown free-range on a farm your highness, until a band of idiots in service to your Chantry thought the place would look better as a charred mass of garbage."

Her brusqueness startles the young monarch and his easy going facade falters for a heartbeat before he can snap it back into place, "Thought I do not doubt your words, it is difficult to think of the Templars razing random farmsteads to the ground for no good reason."

"And that is exactly what is wrong with you people," she retaliates despite Duncan's warning glare to be quiet, "You refuse to believe that someone as lowly as I could ever be speaking the truth about the atrocities committed when you are looking the other way."

"When did this happen?" Cailan's voice is barely a whisper.

"Over twenty years ago," is the curt reply, "But it's not like any of you care what happens to elf bloods unless it is suiting you-"

"That is quite enough now Lynx," Duncan chides and maneuvers himself between the woman and his king, "Forgive me you Majesty, she is weary and has had to endure many hardships in the past week. All she has encountered thus far is the darker side of humanity and it has left its mark, I'm afraid to say."

"Don't fret about it my friend, she looks a bit overwhelmed, so her defensiveness is completely understandable," the other man chirps, effectively sweeping her blatant impertinence under an invisible rug, "You should take her back to the Warden camp and let her tend to her needs, especially with the battle looming so close. I would hate for a Warden to fall because I kept them from resting while they could. Besides, Loghain has arrived and I suspect he wants to bore me with more of his conspiracy theories."

"Of course, your Majesty," Lynx feels Duncan's insistent hand on her back as he speaks, prompting her to bow alongside him, then is tugged backwards to draw her away from the royal procession as it moves on. She risks peering over at the older man as he leads her towards a building that had lost its roof centuries before and is surprised to find that a clenched jaw is the only thing that betrays his displeasure with her.

"I am...sorry," she whispers when he finally pauses and meets her gaze.

"No you aren't, but thank you for the sentiment," he answers in a much gentler-and more intimate-tone than she had expected, "Nevertheless, this is where we must part ways for a time; there are urgent matters which I must attend and they would only confuse and tire you more than you already are. Up those stairs you will find a young man by the name of Alistair, he will help you with anything you need. I will warn you though, he was trained as a Templar, but joined the Wardens before taking his vows. He has a good heart, but is a bit naïve, so I would take it as a personal favor if you could refrained from killing him if he does something foolish."

"I'll do my best," the woman responds with a sigh, but fails to suppress a shudder as Duncan smiles, then makes his way over to a Templar and begins speaking to him.

After pulling her hood up against the misty rain that has settled over the area, Lynx pats Spiorad on the head, "Well, let's see how far I can shove my foot in my mouth this time." Her four legged friend's chest rumbles with something resembling a laugh as he faithfully treads up the walkway after his mistress.

"Very well, I shall go speak to her, if only to end this infernal harassment!" a man with a dour expression bellows before storming passed the pair, leaving them alone with a younger blonde man clad in splint mail.

A ripple of fear washes over Lynx as she feels the power emanating from him. _This must be the one Duncan was talking about. Doesn't look too bright to me._

"-we could all stand in a circle, holding hands and sing like it was a party," she suddenly realizes the warrior is speaking to her as her mabari licks her hand to get her attention, "At least it would give the darkspawn something to think about."

"You are one strange man," she comments before remembering that she is supposed to play nice with this one.

"So I've been told," he cheerily confesses before she can apologize, then turns to her with a perplexed expression, "You must be Duncan's new recruit, right? You aren't a mage, are you?"

More than a little wary at his supposed inability to sense her magic, she gives him a mischievous grin, "Well, would that make your day worse?"

Alistair waves his hand dismissively and chuckles, "Not really, I just like to know my chances of being turned into a frog at any given time."

"I have an array of magicks at my disposal, but they are not my only weapons," she admits, and smirks when the warrior swallows a bit nervously.

"Ooh, a white mabari!" he suddenly exclaims, making sure to put the canine between them as he kneels down and scratches Spiorad behind on ear, "Both of you have white hair, like some kind of ghostly spirit things..."

"Funny that you should say that," she strokes her companions head affectionately, "His name is Spiorad, and it means spirit. And I am Lynx, Duncan sent us to find you."

Alistair scrambles to his feet at the mention of the Warden Commander, "With everything that has been going on, I wonder why he chose a woman-not saying that there is anything wrong with being a woman, it's just that you don't see many join the order...especially magically inclined ones."

A small flare of annoyance blots out the semi comfortable bubble that had begun to build up around them and Lynx retreats a few steps, "Duncan conscripted me after I murdered a Templar who was trying to rape me. It was either join the Wardens or die a long, painful death. Now, is there some place I can get washed up and maybe find some food?"

Shaken by the mage's swift change of demeanor, the junior Warden nods and wordlessly beckons her to follow him through the crumbling structure and into a tent city that is hidden behind it. She and her hound draws quite a few curious stares as they are led to a modest dome shaped shelter, where Alistair halts. "This one is yours. The baths are about twenty yards over that way and the mess tent is set up on the top of that little hill. I'll ask around and see if anyone has some extra clothes and stuff for you to use. I'll try to scrounge up a set of robes too, if you'd prefer."

"No robes, you can't move worth a shit in them," the man's pale eyebrows nearly disappear into his hairline at her casual use of foul language, but she ignores it, "But if you could get me a whetstone, I'd appreciate it. I lost mine a while back and my daggers need to be sharpened if I am going to be fighting."

"Sure and urm Lynx...I'm sorry for whatever it was I did to upset you," he mumbles before bowing and scurrying off.

Despite desperately wanting to scrape off the dirt, blood, and other accumulated grime from her skin, the woman chooses to wait for the promised set of clothes and instead allows her nose to lead her to the food tent. More looks are tossed her way, but they seem to be directed more at her war hound than herself personally, but she refuses to tarry long after being handed a wooden stray piled high with delightfully aromatic goods.

The mage and her companion, once safely back in their new abode, make easy work of the massive amount of food and are dozing lightly when the sound of something being sat down rouses her. Slightly alarmed, she throws back the flap to find a basket covered in oilskin. She swivels her head to look up and down the row of tents, but no one seems to give any indication that they are the gift giver, so she pulls the bundle inside and tentatively opens it.

Inside are two stacks of clothes, a wool cloak, a sturdy looking pair of boots, and a whetstone with a note tied to it that has 'Welcome Sister' written in a flowery script on it.

**Yeah, now we're beginning to see more of Lynx's personality come out lol. As I explained to one reader, she is as crazy as Leliana and about as mannerly as Morrigan. I hope you enjoyed :-)**


	5. Chapter 4

**Nothing owned by me.**

**Any spelling mistakes you find, I'm sorry :-)**

The next morning, not even the pseudo electric sensation revealing Alistair's presence can dampen her good mood while Duncan thoroughly elaborates on the details of their upcoming trek into the Korcari Wilds.

Crouching over the map to her right is a roguish type named Daveth-who is still rubbing his hand in the place she'd left him a reminder of where not to put his limbs when introducing himself to women-and to her left is Ser Jory, a lofty, prematurely balding knight who hails from Redcliffe. Neither man seems to have managed to mature passed their superstitious paranoia of the unknown, so she grudgingly tolerates the fearful glances that are thrown her way every few minutes.

She succumbs to the urge to roll her lavender eyes though the third time Jory complains about the Chasind hiding in the Wilds and huffs, "Are all knights this spineless, or is it a trait unique to those who come from Redcliffe? I swear that I am more of a man than you and I have to squat to piss."

"Sorry, but not all of us have the advantage of being an apostate who thinks that smelling like a refuse pile is attractive," is the scathing retort, causing the man to be wrenched out of her strike range by Alistair before the mage's dagger can split his middle open.

"That is enough," Duncan growls after resetting the map, "You are Grey Wardens now, where all are equal. Being a knight or an apostate are things from your old life and hold no meaning here. I suggest you cease this petty squabbling before it gets one of you killed."

Sufficiently chastised, the young mage sits eerily still and redoubles her efforts to ignore those around her and instead focus on the Commander's instructions. When he is finished, he dismisses the group with another warning to be careful. As Lynx also turns to finish making her preparations, Duncan implores her to accompany him to his tent.

Silently she trails after the elder Warden and, being snarled in her own thoughts, nearly misses the pavilion he ducks in to. Muttering a curse, she backtracks a few yards to the shelter and soon finds Duncan swiftly stacking items into a pile next to a beaten leather pack. His lips curve into a gentle smile when the woman stares at him in confusion.

"Just a few necessities you may find useful while you are out in the Wilds," he explains, discarding a few objects into a worn chest before pausing and swiveling around to level his dark orbs at her, "You are not the first Warden to come from humble means and will most certainly not be the last, so realize that this is not a hand out Lynx, it is simply one Greycloak looking out for another."

Momentarily overwhelmed by the raw sincerity echoing in his words, the woman springs forward and gives him a grateful kiss. Much to her surprise, instead of pushing her away, Duncan lets a breathy sigh escape as one weathered hand cups her cheek then he deepens the kiss.

When they finally part minutes later, the Commander flashes her bright smile, "As honored as I am for that gift, may I ask what it was for?"

"To thank you," she readily admits, smiling to herself when the man makes no move to end their embrace, "For saving my life, for helping me, and for being kind when you had nothing to gain from doing so."

She shifts around to resume the kiss, but this time he leans away, "Do not use your body as payment for these things Lynx. You are worth so much more than that. I would not take something from you that was not given freely."

She raises one hand to her side and lets loose the buckles of her armor, then stretches her lithe form to wind her her slim arms around his neck after the gear falls away, "I want this, of that I am certain."

There is only a second of hesitation before the man is kissing her and, despite his age and myriad of old battle wounds, proceeds to enlighten Lynx as to what an attentive and experienced lover he is. He also inadvertently shows her what he jokingly refers to as 'the legendary Grey Warden appetite and stamina', which causes them to be over two hours late for their scheduled meeting with Alistair and her fellow recruits.

"Where have you been? I was beginning to worry," the junior Warden hisses as he moves to her side, but abandons his prodding when Duncan saunters up behind them.

"I was helping Lynx procure the appropriate supplies for your journey," the Commander glibly states as they join the others by the bonfire, "It took some time to find a weapon that did not put too much strain on her ability to cast during battle, so I must apologize for our tardiness."

Lynx bites her cheek to keep from laughing at his bold faced lie even as the men surrounding her take a peek at the shiny new dagger that now resides next to her father's.

"It suits you, I think," Alistair mumbles, his cheeks flaming, "You come across as more of a rogue than a mage anyways."

"Thank you," she whispers and grins at the almost Templar despite her deep seated wariness of his kind.

"Be sure to heed Alistair's warnings as you search for the treaties, he will be able to sense if darkspawn are near," Duncan advises as he leads them to the gate that swings open to reveal a well worn cart path, "And remember, you must collect three vials of their blood before returning. Maker watch over you."

The men return the sentiment while the mage trudges out of the bustling camp and embraces the freedom the swamp is sure to offer. Her comrades on the other hand-aside from Spiorad- appear ready to jump out of their skin as soon as the camp is lost in the wilderness.

"They say the swamps are teeming with Chasind who kill anyone they view as hostile," Jory is soon sniping, his eyes fluttering to every shadow they pass, "And I heard they eat those that they've killed."

"The Chaisnd folk are not the monsters most of you think them to be," Lynx snaps in defense of the people who had come to her aid more than once since she was forced to flee the farmstead, "Ignorant fools vilify what they don't understand in order to justify their blatant prejudice of things that are different than themselves."

"Why do you say that?" Alistair asks in a tone that reminds her of a child pleading for a bed time story.

She dances over a fallen log with barely a whisper of sound then shrugs a shoulder, "I have encountered many Chaisnd in my life and I am still in one piece, am I not?"

"That's probably because they think elves are too scrawny to eat," Daveth snickers and the other two join in soon after.

"I'm not an elf," the young woman automatically responds, silencing the mirthful tones around her, "Human blood runs through these veins therefore I am no better than you stupid shemlen in their eyes."

"I—I thought that children born to a human and an elf were always human?" the junior Warden questions, his face almost comically screwed into a mask of confusion.

"They do appear wholly human, on the outside, but there are differences on the inside. Most never know, or they don't care what those changes entail. Though, if one of those mixed children grew to maturity and in turn mated with an elf..." Lynx trails off and glares out into the forest for a minute before shaking a slew of old memories off, "Well, they turn out like me, I guess, and people suddenly give a damn about your parentage. Humans see the pointed ears and the Elvhen see the human eyes, and neither deem you worth the refuse they burn or bury at the end of the day."

"Lynx-" Alistair begins, but the howl of wolves drowns him out as a pack crests a nearby hill.

The men draw their weapons, but the hedge mage hesitates when she has an epiphany. Just as Spiorad collides with the first beast, she lets loose the creeping vines she'd been calling to ensnare it. "There is something wrong with the wolves! I can feel it!"

"They are tainted," the junior Warden confesses as he neatly slices through a set of snapping jaws and bashes another with his shield," They must have come in contact with darkspawn recently. Don't let the blood get in your mouth, it will make you sick."

Another wolf rushes Lynx and she manages to hack off part of its left ear before lighting from her free hand leaps from her fingers and sends it flying into one of the fetid pools of water. Panting, she quickly asses the men and sees Daveth just as his arm is swallowed and he begins beating on the rabid canine with his bow.

Without thinking, she lunges at them and shreds the wolf's exposed belly with her blades, causing a spray of crimson to paint her patchwork armor. Not bothering to wipe the gore off, she reaches down and releases the rogues arm from its maw and examines it. He jumps when a soft blue glow starts to pulse from her hands and it creeps into the torn flesh, mending the wound as the mana is absorbed.

"What in the Black City were you thinking, charging at a monstrous creature like that?" Alistair bellows, dropping his shield and kneeling down to her left to check for any grievous wounds, "You are a mage Lynx, and that crap you call armor wouldn't stop a barn cat from scratching you, let alone a blasted wolf."

"I've been taking care of myself for almost twenty years, for your information, and I didn't make it this far by being squeamish when it comes to monsters and swordplay," she snorts and smacks his probing hands away, "Of course if your kind hadn't come along, burned my home and killed my father, I wouldn't have needed to learn it all the hard way, now would I?"

"Did you just say that you've been out on your lonesome for twenty years?" Daveth whistles and flexes his repaired limb, "I thought you were little more than a girl."

The absurd comment diffuses some of her irritation and she lets out a low chuckle while healing a cut on her mabari's shoulder, "If I've managed to keep an accurate count these years, I'd say that I am set to turn thirty somewhere around Harvestmere."

As she clutches her pack and stands, she spies the young Warden gaping at her. With a tilt of her head, she acknowledges him, "Something I can help you with?"

His mouth opens and closes twice as his face blooms crimson, "I didn't think you were that old, erm, what I mean is that you look young for your age-," his eyes widen in horror and he stumbles back when he realizes what his words could be twisted to imply, "That didn't come out right, please don't turn me into anything...unnatural Lynx!"

Lynx's grin is razor sharp as she processes his fear of transfiguration, "And just how old might you be then, that you think thirty so decrepit?"

"Um, I'll be two and twenty the day after First Day," Alistair stammers, his tense stance relaxing a touch when she makes no move to harm him, "But the darkspawn would kill us no matter what age we were, so it's not like it matters much, right?"

"Agreed," she concurs after a few heartbeats of silence, then suddenly bends down and strips the boots from her feet and crams them into her bag before smiling at him again, "I move better-and quieter-without them. We should get going before the corpses start attracting scavengers."

A trio of perplexed looks follow her for over a minute, then the men race after the apostate when it dawns on them that they are being left behind by the half-feral mageling.

**Heeheehee isn't Lynx just evil?**


	6. Chapter 5

**Another short chapter...**

It takes two days to locate the ancient chest, and even then the damnable thing turns out to be empty. Angry and a little disheartened over their ill fortune, Lynx sits on a rock beside her hound, twirling the mabari healing bloom she'd found earlier, while Alistair, Daveth, and Jory heatedly argue over what course of action they should take next. She is drawn out of her morose reverie though when a menacing growl rumbles out of her faithful friend and he lurches to his feet.

Ignoring the men's bickering, she stands and glares at the foliage her mabari is focused on as she draws on her mana. "Whoever you are, it would serve you well to show yourself before I decide whether I want you to be cooked medium or well done," to punctuate her statement, flames spring from her hands and dance up her fingers.

A dark haired woman, thin to the point of emaciation, struts out of the brush and affixes her ocher eyes on the defiant apostate, "I was wondering when you would finally notice me, as you are not as easily unsettled as the men who follow you."

"Oh, are you referring to the crow that trailed us the first day, the badger the second, or the mangy dog that had been slinking behind us all morning?" Lynx smirks as she takes in the other woman's scant clothes, perfectly mussed hair, and now furious visage, "Crows don't like swamps, badgers aren't native to the area, and the dog smelled too clean to be wild. Nice try though. Now that the pissing contest is over, do you happen to know what happened to the documents that once resided in this box?"

"Right to the point I see," the woman icily responds, pointedly ignoring the three men who have taken notice of the newcomer, "As for the contents of that chest, they are in fact with my mother. She has for whatever reason chosen to protect them since the pitiful wards placed on the box failed some years ago."

"Well, it seems we have a bit of a problem then," the hedge mage confesses with a rueful sigh, "Those papers belong to the Grey Wardens and we cannot leave without them."

"Why would one such as you allow yourself to be caught up in such trivial matters?" the woman counters amidst the fretful mumbling coming from the men, "They care nothing for the likes of you and I, unless it is to collar us."

"That may be true, but I owe a debt to the one who charged me with this task. They saved me from being locked up in the tower," Lynx qualifies upon surmising that this girl and her mother are most likely fellow apostates and could cause a lot of trouble if they weren't careful, "I believe anyone who is willing to rescue one of our kind from that horrible fate deserves to be paid in kind, that is why I must retrieve those papers."

"Tis sound reasoning. Follow me," she gives the others a waspish grin as she turns on her heel and begins retreating down a game trail, "You may call me Morrigan, if you wish."

"I am Lynx," the young woman replies as the quintet falls into step behind the swamp witch, "How far is it to your home? Our time is growing short and we must return with the documents soon if they are to be of any use."

"Not far, just over that hill," Morrigan points out the mound with a dainty finger, "Mother has no doubt already set out what you are seeking, so it shan't take much time to pick them up and be on your way."

As it turns out, her statement is not far off the mark. A woman with frizzy iron gray hair and a heavily lined face stands waiting just outside of a ramshackle cabin when they cross a rope bridge and file onto a small, dry area that sits a little higher than the bog around it.

"These are Grey Wardens mother," the younger mage announces as she halts in front of her parent, "They are looking for tho-"

"I know what they seek girl," the mother interjects with a wheezing laugh and nudges a canvas bag with her toe, "Here they are, safe and sound, which is a sight better than you'll be if you go back. But you won't listen to me, they never do until it's too late to change their fate."

"Thank you, I think," Alistair gushes as he collects the bag and slings it over his shoulder, "Now if you would kindly point us in the direction of the nearest exit, we will cease imposing on you and your daughter."

"Oh, there's no getting out of this one boy," the old woman cackles, but gestures towards her daughter, "But Morrigan will show you the least exciting way back to your herd of lambs."

As they make their way to leave-after another round of thanks-a ripple of unusual magic washes over Lynx, making the hair on her neck stand on end, but when she turns to investigate, all she can find is Morrigan's mother, who is muttering to herself about power and darkness swallowing her house.

**Yeah I know I'm hardly sticking with canon, but this has been so much fun for me thus far, and I hope it's been the same for all of you :-)**


	7. Chapter 6

**Blah Blah Blah, I own nothing Dragon Age.**

**Point out any spelling mistakes so I can fix them plz :-)**

"We have returned victorious!" Jory smugly crows as the group finds Duncan standing around the Warden encampment's main bonfire with a handful of other Greycloaks.

Lynx can sense the Commander's gaze lingering on her for a few seconds before he walks over and shakes each of their hands, "Admirable job, all of you, but our work is not yet done. Tomorrow you will undergo the Joining ceremony and afterwards the real work begins, so take the night to rest and recuperate while you can."

They nod in affirmation and the weary hopefuls go their separate ways. The young mage laughs quietly as she spies Alistair cradling the canvas bag containing the treaties as he fades from view.

She has nearly escaped the ring of fire light when she hears Duncan once more, "By the way Lynx, I believe that I have found a set of armor more suited to your fighting style, feel free to retrieve it from my tent at your convenience."

A rush of heat floods her face and a tingling throb begins to hum in her lower regions, making Lynx suddenly grateful they had returned at such a late hour because the shadows easily conceal her excited flush, "Of course, I will stop by before I retire tonight."

Then, rejuvenated by Duncan's invitation, the young woman hastily finds a hot meal for herself and the mabari before taking a thorough bath and changing into a clean set of clothes. Once Spiorad is safely nestled in their tent, she dons the same cloak the elder Warden had bestowed upon her the day they met and stealthily pads to his canvas abode.

"You came," Duncan's gravelly baritone greets her as she slips inside and pulls her hood back to reveal her frost colored locks, "I'd begun to fear that you would not, all things considered."

"Why wouldn't I?" she pauses to shake her damp tresses as he takes the cloak and hangs it by the small pot bellied stove next to his own mantle, "You did ask me to collect that armor, after all."

"The armor, how could I forget," he sighs somewhat dejectedly and points to an armor stand resting near a few trunks, "It is a modified set of archers leathers, do you wish to try it on now, or shall you wait until you've returned to your tent?"

Unnerved by the man's unexpected change in demeanor, Lynx shuffles her feet and trains her eyes on the rug, "Am I interrupting something? Did you want me to go so that I won't disturb your work?"

"No, not at all," he assuages her ruffled ego and gives her a quick kiss, "I merely did not wish you to presume that I only asked for you to come because I desired to have you in my bed once more."

"Even if that was the only reason you wanted me here, it wouldn't have bothered me Duncan. We are consenting adults who find pleasure with one another," she ghosts a hand down his torso and grasps his rapidly inflating member, "Besides, I can think of worse ways to unwind before a battle."

"Then I offer my services to you gladly," he nearly moans, his lips now glossing over the exposed porcelain skin of her throat.

It takes mere minutes to divest themselves of their trappings and tumble onto the surprisingly soft rope bed that is situated at the back of the pavilion. A dual gasp flutters through the space as the lower halves of their bodies join as energetically as their mouths. In no time, the perspiration trickling off of their toned forms makes them glisten in the smoky glow of the oil lamps, but has no affect on their activities as Duncan grasps one of Lynx's legs and slides it up and on to his shoulder, then rolls his hips in such a way that forces his lover to bite down on a pillow to muffle her cries of ecstasy.

Inevitably trouble comes while the mage is astride the Commander, bucking as though trying to break a wild stallion, when a messenger who has never learned to announce himself suddenly bursts in on the erotic display.

"T-ttattoos," the boy stutters, his feet are seemingly glued to the ground as the intricate lines and swirls that canvas most of the left half of Lynx's very feminine physique consumes his every thought.

Flustered but far from ashamed of her actions, she silently dismounts her lover after giving him a kiss and saunters over to the mass of discarded clothing while Duncan conceals himself with a sheet and shuffles over to the page.

She catches whispered words like 'king', 'darkspawn', and 'soon' but the rest is swallowed by the rustling of fabric and leather as she dresses then totes over the other Warden's garments.

"Should I go?" she queries in a hushed tone upon seeing the last vestiges of her tender lover be consumed by the beast known as duty.

Duncan gives her a sullen nod, "Go wake Daveth and Jory, then meet me at the stone altar where you met Alistair the other day. The Joining will commence within the hour, so remember to bring your vial with you."

Reminding herself that he is the leader of her order and not just another person who had shared her bed, she gives a curt nod and bows, "Yes Ser, right away."

Not bothering with her cloak or boots, Lynx whistles for Spiorad as she dashes through the tent city in search of her companions.

By the time she corrals the others and they reach their destination, Duncan and a bleary eyed Alistair are hovering over an over-sized silver chalice, talking in hurried whispers.

"Are you ready?" Alistair asks in way of acknowledgement.

"Not really, but what's a little blood magic for, if not to keep things interesting?" the apostate remarks with a biting laugh, making Duncan choke back a gasp at her casual verbage of forbidden magicks...and perhaps her ease at identifying it.

An hour after Duncan and Alistair's solemn speech, the newest Grey Warden awakens during the removal of the other two who were not as fortunate as she. "How do you feel?" Duncan prods as he helps her to stand.

"Did anyone get the number of that carriage than just repeatedly ran over my head?" she weakly jests after taking a moment to heal herself then, to Duncan's dismay, shrugs out of his protective embrace, "You need to mix that concoction with pumpkin juice or something because it tasted dreadful."

"You seem to be in a good mood," Alistair glumly points out, his chocolate eyes trailing after the bodies that are now being carried out of sight, "If only they had been so lucky."

Lynx bites back her automatic retort and forces a nonchalant shrug, "I'm still alive, that's good enough for me. I am sorry that Daveth died and Jory had to be executed, but I refuse to feel guilty about surviving."

"You're really not much of a people person, are you?" he simpers, now casting a look towards their Commander while he issues orders to a handful of other Wardens.

"I thought you had figured that out already pretty boy, " the mage cocks her head at the almost Templar for a few seconds, then quietly sighs and pats his shoulder, "Look, people are born and people die every single day Alistair, and the sooner you learn not to get too attached to them, the less time you will mourn when they are gone."

"How cut throat of you," he accuses, but their leader marches over to them before any more damage can be done.

"The king wishes to see us immediately."

**Yep, no coddling from the scary witch thief lmao**


	8. Chapter 7

**I swear that I have not forgotten you, it's just that I am still handwriting this story (32 chapters and counting) and I kind of hoped that you wouldn't mind my tardiness so much if you knew I was writing like a fiend rather than typing like a snail. That and today is my son's birthday lol.**

**Spelling mistakes suck, so point out the really bad ones for me please :-)**

**Dragon Age is not mine and neither is any other copyrighted material, I just play with all of it.**

The first time Lynx had seen King Cailan, she'd been bone tired and more than slightly annoyed by his flippant attitude. The only things that are different this time is that the meeting was taking place at night and the apostate turned Grey Warden now bears a lingering headache that she can't seem to escape from.

After nearly charbroiling a guard that spit on her and called her a knife ear, the newest Grey Warden settles herself on a bench between Duncan and Alistair, with Spiorad's bulbous head resting on her now boot clad feet.

"Scouts have reported new darkspawn activity here, here, and here," a weary looking soldier indicates on the map that dominates most of the royal pavilion, "I'm afraid that the horde is moving much faster than originally anticipated your Majesty."

"With Amaranthine and Highever's forces delayed by the flooding, we will be hard pressed to bolster the forces Sire," another, better dressed, man chimes in with a rueful tone.

"May I remind his Majesty that the Arl of Redcliffe's forces can be here in three days time?" Duncan's calm accented timbre soars over the din that is exacerbating the mage's headache.

Cailan inclines his head to the Commander, "Duly noted Duncan, but three times have we faced these cretins and three times we have come away with smashing victories. I do not see how this time will be any different old friend, but thank you for the reminder. As for my uncle, I have a sneaking suspicion that he just wants to relive his glory days, not that I blame him."

"Glory is for children whose heads are filled with fairy tales," a grim looking warrior clad in ornate plate mail booms, then throws a disdainful look at the trio of Greycloaks before moving to stand toe to toe with the king, "We should wait for reinforcements."

"Fine Loghain. Empress Celene has pledged five hundred of her best chevaliers to aid in the eradication of the scourge," the younger man guffaws in response to the other's dubious stare, "Maybe we ought to wait on them, since I know you wouldn't mind if we stuck them on the front lines as soon as they arrived, now would you?"

"We need nothing from Orlais," Loghain spits, his face nearly crimson with thinly veiled rage.

"Then it's settled. I will ride with the Grey Wardens, you will wait for the signal fire on top of this hill," Cailan chirps as if he were indicating the placement of toy soldiers, "Speaking of, Duncan I want you to pick two of your best to light the beacon at the top of the tower Ishal. I trust no others with this vital task.

"As you wish, your Majesty," the Commander quietly replies before gesturing for Alistair and Lynx to follow him out of the overcrowded tent.

"He's not the brightest lamp of the bunch, is he?" the apostate uncouthly blurts as they tread out of the king's camp and back to their own.

"Careful Lynx, that is our king you are speaking of," the elder Warden chides absently, his mind seemingly miles away.

"Well I certainly didn't vote for him," she argues, ignoring the way her boots are pinching her feet, "Besides, he is nothing more than a petulant child, always whining about someone wanting to steal attention away from him. What kind of buffoon thinks mass murder is glorious? Does he even stick around long enough to see what war does to people?"

"And I suppose you have?" Alistair sneers, his mood suddenly sour for some reason.

"My life has been a never ending war since I had a tree drop on my leg when I was eight and accidentally blasted it into sawdust," the woman deadpans, "My father and the entire family who lived on the farm where I grew up ended up butchered two years later because of the Chantry's endless vendetta against magekind. So, to answer your question, yes I have seen a little of what war does to people."

"Though I mourn your loss, this is not the time or place for such a discussion," Duncan interrupts as they reach his tent, "You two will be lighting the signal fire, so you need to make ready to leave at a moments notice. Now I have other matters to attend, so please try to keep a civil tongue with one another while I'm gone."

Subdued by their Commander's castigation, the pair silently slips through the ever busier encampment and begin preparing for the monumental task that lies before them.

Some hours later, Lynx is jolted out of a fitful doze as the blaring of horns echoes throughout Ostagar. Not having bothered with removing her new armor, she grabs her bag and lurches to her feet just as a mass of people go racing by her shelter.

"What's happening?" she calls out to a group of archers rushing passed.

"Darkspawn!" one of them yells without slowing her brisk pace.

Then Alistair, pushes out of the fray, armed to the teeth. "It's time."

"I thought it might be," she agrees without a hint of sarcasm and the pair start forcing their way through the river of greycloaks running toward the battlefield.

**Short and not so simple lol.**


	9. Chapter 8

**You know, I'm really starting to miss reviews :-( It hurts me right here, *points at chest * in my little black heart.**

**To make matters worse, I own nothing.**

"One more floor," Alistair groans after kicking a genlock off of his sword, then blows a few stray pieces of hair out of his eyes,"So much for this place being empty."

Lynx forces her lyrium addled brain to focus on his words enough to formulate a reply, "Weren't you the one bitching earlier that Duncan sent you here to keep you away from the battle? Well, wish granted Chantry boy, you got your big fight, now get your sorry ass moving before I fall down."

"You know Lynx, your people skills are about as polished as a rusty nail," her fellow Warden banters jovially as he ducks under her arm and takes some of the weight off of her wounded leg, "Why don't you just heal this and be done with it?"

"A few reasons, one being that the wound is brimming with wood shards from where the arrow splintered and I would have to cut them out later, if the infection didn't kill me first. The second reason is that I must save my waning mana for whatever may be hiding behind lucky door number four," she grumbles, eying the circle mage as he downs another lyrium potion then heals the soldier they had picked up along the way, "And thirdly-for anyone counting-Unlike that idiot, I have no desire to be any more lyrium drunk than I already am."

Alistair is still quiet a few minutes later when Lynx blasts the aforementioned door off of its hinges, then hobbles up a set of stairs and across the room towards the massive fireplace encompassing the rooms far wall. Halfway there though, she freezes and falls into a defensive stance, "My Warden senses are tingling Alistair, I think there are darkspawn up here somewhere."

"Damn, that didn't take lo-Look out!" he crows just as a humongous gray skinned monstrosity comes charging out of the gloom, a severed leg raised over its horned head like a club.

Reflexively the mage tucks into a ball and rolls out of the path of the creatures, then comes up with a dagger in one hand and a steaming ball of liquid ice in the other. The beast roars its frustration at its target and Lynx shrieks back before yelling, "Come and get me you son of a bitch, I'm right here!"

It takes one step, then another, every one faster than the previous, and Lynx releases her cone of cold at it just as the circle mage sends a fireball rocketing into the thing's back. The beast howls in agony, but has no time to recover as Alistair and the other warrior begins chopping at it.

Her mana exhausted, the new Warden extracts herself from the line of fire and limps over to the oil soaked wood waiting to be lit. Even with yet another lyrium infusion, it takes all of her remaining energy to conjure a flame large enough to engulf the timbers. The force of her fire spell knocks her off kilter, but she sags with relief when the blaze instantly lights up the sky around them.

The creature that the others had been picking away at makes the stones under her shudder as it crashes to the floor fast first, but she barely notices as she tries to make out the mass of figures growing smaller on the far hill.

"No! Where is he going!" Alistair cries out as if the shadowy forms could hear every word, "You're going the wrong way!"

"Hmph, we're all going to die here after all," the apostate mumbles, unable to resist the darkness creeping into her vision, "I'm sorry Pappae."

She doesn't even feel the darkspawn arrows when they puncture her chest.


	10. Chapter 9

**I'm staying up way past my bedtime to type this out for those few who were begging for another chapter lol.**

Dreams of fire, rain, and flying unwillingly fade away as Lynx opens her eyes to unfamiliar surroundings.

_The tower, a larger than life darkspawn, Alistair shouting..._

"Why the fuck am I naked?" she lurches into a sitting position only to see the bone thin witch from the Wilds smirking at her.

"Ah, you're awake. Mother shall be most pleased," Morrigan banters and rises from her spot at the end of the bed, "Though I suppose the drooling idiot that accompanied you before shall be elated as well."

_Drooling. Idiot._ "Alistair is here?" she pries after accepting the proffered set of worn but unstained garments and dressing, "How? Where are the others? Did anyone else escape?"

The other apostate quirks one inky eyebrow in question, then tsks, "So many questions. Yes, I believe the failed Templar called himself Alistair. I do not know nor do I care if any of your other companions survived after that man and his troops quit the field. The reason you are here tis that my mother transformed herself into a great bird and carried you out in her talons. If these answers have not been enough to satiate your curiosity, I suggest you ask Mother, though I also suggest thanking her first since it twas she who did most of the healing."

Lynx tugs her hair out of the thin tunic and winds it into a knot at the back of her neck, then gives an awkward bow to the dark haired mage, "I, urm, thank you Morrigan."

She swamp witch's ocher eyes roll in annoyance, though her cheeks spot with flecks of pink, "I already informed you that Mother twas the one responsible for your survival but you...are welcome. Now tend to your companion Warden, I may be unable to resist silencing him by force if he continues blubbering like an overblown infant much longer."

"As long as he's alive, I could care less if you turned him into a toadstool for a few hours," the young woman snorts a soft laugh before pushing the door wide and walking out into the hazy afternoon.

It's not difficult to find Alistair, who is crouched amongst the reeds and tossing stones into the sulfur scented water. She pauses for a few minutes, just observing the young man, and trying to find a way to alleviate some of his grief without extending their stay with the senile mother/daughter tag team. Then her mouth makes the decision to intrude, "It's good to see that someone else made it out."

If their situation had not been so hopeless, it would be laughable, the way the almost Templar slowly swivels around to gawk at her, then leaps to his feet like an overgrown puppy, "You're alive! I nearly had myself convinced that you'd died and the crazy witches had dumped you in a bog somewhere you let you marinate some before they ate you, thank the Maker I was wrong!"

Before she can formulate a sufficient answer, Alistair scoops her up in a crushing hug. Instead of instantly zapping him to remind him of her personal space rule, she finds herself being comforted by his protective embrace despite her breath slowly being squeezed out of her.

A weak squeak catches the man's attention and he quickly releases her, "Sorry about that, I guess I forget my own strength sometimes."

"I'll be fine, just...just don't ever do that again," Lynx rasps, clutching her ribs and subtly checking for any broken ribs.

"See, your fellow Warden is alive and well, just as I said," the old woman conveniently thrusts herself into their private moment, "I warned you that you worry too much boy, she is much stronger than she appears."

"Thank you so much, er, I never did catch your name," Alistair's grateful smiles dims a little.

"Names are utterly useless, but for this occasion, you may call me Flemeth if you so wish," the aged apostate instructs, her voice evolving into an amused chortle when her companions eyes try to bulge out of their sockets.

"You're _the_ Flemeth? Andraste's flaming sword, Daveth was right!" his features twist with a mixture of awe and fear, "Why did you save us?"

The woman of many years crosses her arms and levels an indignant leer at the almost Templar, "Someone must deal with the darkspawn and it would have been foolish of me to allow the Grey Wardens to be snuffed out in a single night, wouldn't it? Unless your duties have changed since the last time I checked."

The warrior shakes his head slowly, his anger building anew, "No, that is what we were trying to do when Loghain turned traitor and left our king to be slaughtered by the horde. The only thing different about our job now is that there are a lot less of us to do it. That and I'm going to decorate a pole with Loghain's head some day soon in recompense for what he's done."

Lynx feels a stab of pity for the young man, but knows a time to keep quiet when she sees one, so she opts to redirect things, "I don't mean to be the black cloud on a sunny day here, but how exactly are two Grey Wardens going to defeat an entire darkspawn army?"

"I don't—-the treaties!" he shouts jubilantly and darts over to several bags scattered around a worn bedroll, "We could take them to Eamon, maybe he could help us contact the dwarves, elves, and mages, since I know that there is no way he would let Loghain's treachery get in the way of stopping the blight."

"Soldiers of the bannorn, the elvhen that hide in the forests, dwarfkind who dwell under our feet, and mages finally unleashed from the tower," the old woman ponders aloud, "I don't know about you, but that certainly sounds like an army to me."

The hedge mage's brother Warden grasps her arms and leers down at her with an ecstatic grin, "Lynx, we can do this!"

"Mother, the stew will be done shortly," Morrigan announces with an air of allofness surrounding her, "Shall I prepare for two guests or none?"

Flemeth snorts a croaking guffaw and turns to her daughter, "None. The Grey Wardens will be leaving soon and you will be going with them."

"Such a shame," her child begins, then her head snaps up so that she can glower at her mother, "What?"

"Come now, you've been itching for a way to get out of the Wilds for some time now girl, you would prove to be very foolish should you let this opportunity slip by."

The two Wardens exchange a slightly panicked look, then by silent decree, Lynx steps up, "I would never take your daughter against her will, she'd just run back here the first chance she had."

"Nonsense," the old apostate frowns, "She knows the swamps nearly as well as I, but also understands that another magic wielder would be useful to you on your endeavor."

Keenly out of place among those he's been trained to hunt, Alistair leans over and whispers to his comrade, "Not to be offensive or anything, but there are those who won't care that you are a Greycloak and will only see one more apostate on the run. Wouldn't taking Morrigan cause more problems than it solves?"

Flemeths's crinkled face folds into a scowl, "If you harbor such reservations as well, I could remedy the issue by finding the nearest batch of darkspawn and drop you on them."

The young man's shoulders slump and he exhales with a loud sigh, "Point taken. I supposed we owe you another bout of thanks for this."

"If you know what's good for you, then yes, I supposed you do. Maybe twice over since I am offering you what is most dear to me," she replies testily, causing him to shift his weight from foot to foot sheepishly.

"Thanks again Fle-" the newest Warden attempts, but is thwarted by the ink maned mage, "Don't I get a say in this Mother?"

"Not this time," her parent chides, then her visage melts into something reminiscent of affection, "They need us child, for they are all that stands between us and the darkness. If they fall, we will all surely perish under the scourge's poisoned blade."

"I," Morrigan's thin torso trembles with a jagged breath as the enormity of the situation drops onto her frail looking shoulders, "I understand. Give me a moment to pack my things."

After the humbled woman disappears into the hut, Lynx spins around to face the elder mage once again, "Do you know what causes these blights?"

Flemeth offers a sagely nod, then explains how the dragons of old were corrupted and how they are found by the darkspawn and awakened to lead these creatures to the surface. The tainted dragons are called archdemons, for they are the only ones powerful enough to corral the horde into a nearly cohesive fighting force.

Lynx thanks the woman for the information and, with her heart longing for the comfort of her missing mabari, inclines her head to Morrigan as she materializes with a rumpled pack on her shoulder and a gnarled staff in hand.

"There is a village to the north that I often visit for provisions. I suggest we travel there first and expand upon our sorry list of supplies," when there is no immediate reply, she huffs in irritation, "Or I can be your silent guide, if you prefer, the choice is yours."

"No, I wish that you would speak your mind," The Warden mage retorts over Alistair's nearly inaudible groan.

"You'll regret telling her that soon enough," Flemeth cackles, then gestures them onward, "But for now, off you go, it's time to save your homes from both man and monster, though I leave it for you to decide which is which."

Morrigan offers no fare thee well other than to warn her mother about not letting the stew burn. The old witch must have mumbled something only her child would understand because a moment later, Lynx spies the younger apostate worrying her bottom lip as the hut merges with the surrounding scenery.

**I'll worry about what I spelled wrong tomorrow, but I'd be grateful for any pointed out to me.**


	11. Chapter 10

**Anyone else chomping at the bit for DA 2?**

**Nope, don't own.**

As the trio leaves the swamps behind, Lynx begins to notice that the uncharacteristic silence of her fellow Warden has evolved into outright melancholy. She has no idea how to aid him though, so also remains quiet as they trudge side by side along the path. Half a day goes by in such a manner, until Morrigan shatters the uneasy stillness by announcing that she is hungry and will not wait to reach Lothering to fill her stomach.

Almost mechanically Alistair drops his bags next to a boulder before sliding down the rock and seating himself on the ground. She watches him for a short span of time, then sifts through her pack and retrieves a loaf of travelers break. After breaking it in half and situating herself at his side, she bumps the almost Templar with her knee and offers him half.

Absent as ever, he mutely takes the offered food and begins eating. It is then Lynx makes her decision. "I miss Duncan."

Seconds tick by, then he meets her sideways glance with a morose expression, "You don't have to do that, I know that you didn't have a bond with them like I did. Besides, you made it quite clear on how you feel about people who actually have more than a thimbleful of emotions. Of course, I'm talking about people here-"

"Just because I do not tear at my hair and wail like a bean sidhe with sorrow does not mean I grieve any less," she confesses softly before shaking her head and looking away from him, "I may not have known the members of our order as well as you, but there has been a hole inside of me since Ostagar fell and I feel it most acutely."

Taken aback by the rare moment of openness, it takes a minute for her companion to reply, "It's the Warden bond that is causing the hollow feeling in you. We all feel a pinhole shot into our psyche when one of us dies, but with so many dying at once it...it leaves a chasm inside. I'm not sure if it will ever go away."

Lynx starts to speak, but is struck with a wave of nausea just as Alistair jumps to his feet and pulls his sword, "Darkspawn!"

Unable to discern the direction they are coming, she waits for her comrade to single it out with the tip of his blade before firing off a set of rejuvenation spells and readying her daggers. She can see the monsters barreling down the road, but is distracted by a white blur just ahead of their attackers. Innately she knows who and what the blur is,"Spiorad!"

The racing mabari barks happily in response, but there is little time for celebrations as the creatures are upon them and the Wardens greet them with steel, fangs, and fire. When a thunderclap booms overhead, they know that the swamp witch has finally joined in the madness. Lynx finds the other woman just as Spiorad rescues the younger witch from a genlock. Morrigan blows her not so perfectly mussed bangs out of her eyes, after finishing the beast off, and beams a rakish grin towards the Warden, "So now we have a dog and Alistair is still the dumbest member of the group, how charming."

"Well, I guess I'm three for three on the idiot gathering the-Ow fuck!" Lynx's answering guffaw is cut off prematurely when a hurlock lays open her thigh-the same that had just been repaired by Flemeth-and she freezes its head, then shatters it for good measure.

"Lynx!" the other Warden booms and starts chopping his way towards here when she lifts a bloodied hand, "I'm fine, take care of those three, I have these bastards!"

What feels like hours later, they finally run out of darkspawn to eviscerate. Instinctively Alistair begins gathering the corpses to burn while Morrigan-who is as drained of mana as Lynx-cleans and stitches the white haired mages wound closed. Spiorad does his best to keep his mistress calm by laying against her uninjured side and then tries to remove the worst of the gore from his pale fur.

"We can still make the town by dusk," Morrigan insists after cutting the tread and affixing a poultice to Lynx's leg, "Tis a pity though, Mother had done such a fine job with your arrow wound, and now her work is utterly ruined."

"Yes well remind me to apologize to her that it wasn't my face that took the blade this time," the other woman snipes, her expression warning Morrigan of the repercussions of another sarcastic remark.

Alistair, oblivious to the exchange, lumbers up and squints up at the sun, "We should keep moving girls. Barring anything major, we might get lucky and reach Lothering by nightfall."

Morrigan breaks off their staring contest and sneers at the young man, "Oh, rejoined the land of the living have we? Was thinking of ways to throw yourself upon your sword taking too much effort?"

Much to the witch's dismay, he refuses to take the bait, merely shrugging before reclaiming his pack and offering a hand to help the other Warden to her feet. Lynx is too weary to do much besides give her sister mage a weighted glance before leaning on the war hound and shambling after the morose warrior.

Some hours later, they are ambushed by supposed tax collectors as they attempt to enter the outskirts of town. It is from their leader that they divine further insight into Loghain's far reaching plans to ruin the Greycloaks. Then, prompted by the dying bandit's proclamations, Lynx hastily liberates the bodies of any useful items and begins tossing things at her companions.

"What are we doing?" the almost Templar squeaks from behind a stack of crates after he is instructed to change into a set of proffered clothing.

"You heard that moronic jackass, there is a price on our fucking heads. We'll have an easier time getting in and out of Lothering if we don't march in trumpeting who we are," the elder of the apostates reveals as she tugs on a simple serving girl's dress.

"You are a shrewd woman," Morrigan banters with a hint of approval, her bony fingers trailing down the creamy sleeve of her borrowed gown, "What plan have you?"

"You and Alistair are going to pose as a merchanting couple that have been robbed and lost your way. I will be your ever faithful elvish servant," Lynx grimaces but continues, "Our emptied wagons were set upon by monsters after the attack and the last of the guards killed, which is why we are alone. Morrigan, if you plan on keeping your stave, you're going to have to pretend that you have no damn clue of what it really is."

"And what, pray tell, convinced you that the ill tempered harpy and I would make a convincing couple?" Alistair prods, squirming in his dandified attire.

She slowly turns to him and grins impishly, "The way you love to make nasty little jibes at each other just screamed happy couple to me and I ran with it. Besides, what do you value more, your pride? Or your life?"

The swamp witch's lips twist with what is no doubt another barb and Lynx shoves a finger at her nose, "Before you speak another word, know this you loathsome bitch: everyone knows you hate Alistair. Creators know he even gets on my nerves, so I can't fault you too much, but he is my brother and _I will destroy you_ if you don't shut up and back the fuck off."

After Morrigan mumbles something akin to an apology then stalks off, she feels another pair of eyes boring into her and it dawns on the mage what she had just done. _Damn that annoying hug_ she chides herself, then shifts her focus to the instigator of her tumultuous feelings, "And don't you dare get any silly ideas Templar or you'll learn what life is like as a swine."

Alistair flashes her the first real smile she's seen from him since before the battle, "Of course Lynx."

She scoffs in frustration and scarcely resists beating her head off a passing crate as they resume their jaunt into the smelly town.

**Hmm, who knew that she could actually have a nice side? lol**


	12. Chapter 11

**My fingers were twitchy so I decided to type out another chapter while I had the time.**

**Still don't own.**

"There it is, pretty as a painting," Alistair lamely declares as they reach the bottom of the stone stairwell and survey the area.

Clusters of dirty, exhausted, and wild eyed people clog the main road leading through the dingy town, some hauling wagons teeming with personal belongings while others mope along with only the clothes on their backs. As the party weaves its way through the odorous throng, the dull roar is often punctuated by various names being called out.

"They flee before the horde," Morrigan comments tensely, having noticeably curled inward to avoid making contact with the refugees.

Having avoided largely populated areas her entire life, Lynx is also feeling a bit choked, "Let's just get what we came for. The faster we do that, the earlier we can quit this dreadful place."

The list of goods is split amongst them and, after agreeing to meet at Lothering's singular inn, they part ways to attain their assigned goods.

_Not enough money for everything we need_ the hedge mage inwardly frowns as she and her four legged friend come across a merchant selling wares from two worn wagons _I guess I'm going to have to filch what I can't buy._

Luck is with her momentarily.

Soon-before anyone grows wise to her presence-she is slithering away with a pair of canvas sacks bulging with pilfered goods.

After hiding the bags under a pile of debris, Lynx returns to the wagons without any attempts to conceal herself this time. After carefully donning the meek demeanor of a typical elvish maid servant, she stammers her list of needed things. She isn't given a second glance.

With her task conquered, the mage makes a point to peer in the windows of the inn before reclaiming the stolen items and searching out for a semi dry and isolated place to camp.

She has just stumbled upon a generous incove hidden behind a chunk of rock that has fallen from the bridge overhead when a now familiar sensation flows through her. "Glad to see that you could avoid getting yourself lynched Alistair, there is hope for you yet."

"Who is Alistair?" a man's voice inquires and Lynx's blades are in her hands before she spots a young man who is obviously of noble breeding, a ginger haired woman in a Chantry robe, and a grey skinned giant all watching her expectantly.

Violet eyes widen with recognition as they discover an often seen pendant hanging from the man's neck. Wordlessly, she produces her own, inciting the man to smile and bob his dark head, "My name is Gabriel Cousland. The Chantry sister is Leliana, and the Qunari glowering at me is Sten. It is wonderful to meet you sister."

Lynx absorbs the information, then re-sheathes her weapons, "My name is Lynx, the hound slobbering on your hand is Spiorad. I've two more in my company."

"They are Grey Wardens as well?" the redhead lilts, though her accent makes it difficult to make out her words.

"One is a mage, the other a Templar," her answer is purposely vague, as she gestures for them to follow and begins walking away, "I am set to meet them at the inn. They will want to meet you as well."

"Have you encountered any others from Ostagar?" the jade eyed Warden queries in a low tone as they make their way to the ramshackle building. All that he needs to know is written on her visage, "Dammit, I was hoping at least one of us was able to recover the treaties."

"Oh those? We have them," the lone female Warden admits a tad smugly as her companions emerge from the inn, "Hey Alistair, look what I found."

"Gabe, is that you? Thank the Maker!" the almost Templar crows and hugs the nobleman, "I'm so glad that you survived your Joining, then all of the ensuing insanity."

"I woke while you were in the Wilds and Duncan had me put to work immediately so that I..." the warrior pauses for a handful of heartbeats and his eyes take on a watery glimmer, "So that I wouldn't go looking for Fergus."

Feeling out of place with the camaraderie springing up around her, Lynx slows her gate until she and her faithful hound fall in step with Morrigan at the rear. She looks to the other apostate, but she appears to be transfixed by the newest Warden, so she leers over to the Orlesian, who is firing question after question at the giant.

_You could leave right now and no one would notice_ the thought chips away at her resolve as Gabriel leads the mismatched group towards another campsite _Cousland is nearly as well known a name as Theirin, so they wold have an educated noble to guide them, instead of some mongrel blooded, barbaric apostate. You could go your own way, safe in the knowledge that you'll be executed for being a Grey Warden rather than a rogue mage if you're caught. That has to be some comfort. _

Just as the mage gives in and starts to alter her course, she hears Leliana call out to her. "Lynx, what an unusual name. It is after the beautiful snow cat, yes?"

Subtly she falls back into step with her comrades, "Yes, though it is not my birth name. My father started calling me Lynx after he found me hopping though the snow on all fours one winter, trying to catch a rabbit."

"Well, I bet your given name is equally as pleasant," the woman smiles as they reach the camp, her azure eyes twinkling in the fading light, "Elves always have such intriguing names."

"I was named after my mother's sister, who'd died when she was only days old. And I'm not an elf," Lynx curtly responds, then scurries off to find a secluded spot before the strange Chantry sister can coax anything else from her.

**Yeah, I know, Lynx is a bad girl for wanting to run off lol**


	13. Chapter 12

**Yay, more time than I thought I had, so you get yet another chapter!**

**You know I own nothing.**

The next morning, as the blended party breathes a collective sigh of relief at having Lothering at their backs, they are suddenly sent scrambling for their weapons when a man's raspy cry for help is carried to them on the wind.

Spiorad and Ruby-Gabriel's mabari-rally around the mages defensively while the others throw themselves at the darkspawn who are accosting two dwarva. The pair of apostates take turns lashing out with their collection of offensive spells with Lynx dipping into her meager arsenal of healing spells when necessary. By the time their mana is spent and the female Warden reaches for her daggers, the battle is over.

She quietly joins Leliana in scavenging anything they can use from the spilled merchandise as Morrigan and Gabriel relieve the darkspawn of their goods,which leaves Alistair and Sten with the gory task of body disposal. As she works, Lynx finds and pockets an onyx figurine after recalling the almost Templars fondness for them, as well as a gold bracelet and a silver hair clip.

"So, are you and Alistair close?" the ginger chirps as they conclude their search and retreat a few yards away to wait on the others, "I mean more than just a pair of Grey Wardens."

The older woman shrugs dismissively, "He is my brother, as is Gabriel. We have fought and shed blood together for our own mutual survival. He's rash and a bit slow on the uptake, but I do not mind his presence as much as I once did. Why do you bring it up?"

"Does that mean that you and he are not...involved? Romantically or anything?" the girls asks a bit timidly.

Lynx bubbles with raucous laughter until she realizes the Chantry sister is serious, "Even if I were not an apostate and he not trained to hunt my kind, I doubt we would be compatible, if that is what you are asking. Feel free to pursue him, you will brook no arguments from me. Besides, a good rutting might do him some good."

Leliana's visage turns dreamy as she shoulders a plain but sturdy bow, then also claims the half full quiver of arrows beside it, "He's just so kind, and funny, and-"

"Who's funny?" the man in question interrupts, his bottom lip jutting out like a child's when the women merely snicker and push off from the stone railing, "Fine, be that way. I just came to tell you that Gabriel wants to talk about some Warden stuff before we head out again Lynx."

The third Warden is pouring over a water stained map when the other two find him, but offers a tired smiles when he lifts his head, "Lynx, just the person I was hoping to talk to. Maybe you could settle the debate between our brother and myself. He insists that we stick together while delivering the treaties and I believe that splitting our forces will help us to resolve things much faster."

She curses herself for not escaping when she had the chance before weighing the pros and cons of each man's reasoning. By the time she speaks, both men are fidgeting nervously. "I can see why Alistair would want to stick together, it would bolster our potential allies confidence in our capabilities but," she raises a hand to stall the youngest Warden's smug chortling, "Dividing our forces would serve two purposes. One being that we would theoretically achieve our goals faster, the other is that we stand less of a chance of Loghain catching us in one fell swoop if we aren't all clumped together."

"Swooping is bad," Alistair mutters, making the other two chuckle, "But, in my opinion, we cannot allow ourselves to be dictated by something that may or may not happen or nothing will ever get accomplished."

"That may be true," Lynx readily agrees, "But right now Loghain is holding all the cards. Naming himself regent while also commanding Ferelden's armies makes him a force we cannot hope to contend with. We must do whatever it takes to survive and if that means slinking around in separate groups, then stabbing him in the back when he isn't looking, then that is what we will do."

"So does this mean we're splitting up then?" Gabriel asks and for the first time, Lynx catches a glimpse of the lost and grieving boy that he usually hides under his cocky and charismatic exterior.

_This is going to end badly, I know it _she silently groans before officially accepting the mantle of leadership. "Yes it does. Gabe, you take Sten and Morrigan with you to Redcliffe and see what is going on with the Arl. Continue on to the mage prison from there. If your status as a Warden is not viable in either place, your family name ought to be, so don't be afraid to use it in an emergency. Alistair, Leliana, and I will attempt to seek out the Dalish, they should be traveling the Brecillian forest this time of year. They won't be happy to see us, but hopefully will still be honorable enough to uphold the treaty. We will meet back in Redcliffe, then travel to Orzammar from there."

Alistair lifts finger and waits to be acknowledged before asking, "Not to be rude, but why did you split us up the way you did? Is there a specific reason for it?"

She reaches up to massage a cramp out of her neck and sighs, "This way each party has one mage, one mabari, and at least one heavy hitting warrior at their disposal. Leliana isn't as subtle as she thinks she is and I want to keep her close, which is why she is with me. It's as balanced at I can make it."

Impressed with her logic, the men nod their acceptance and shuffle off to relay the altered plans. Lynx watches them for a long moment, then shrugs on her pack and scratches Spiorad behind one perky ear before plodding back onto the road.

**Yeah, this has no potential to blow up in their faces or anything lol**


	14. Chapter 13

***facepalm * my precious DA 2 is coming via the mailman...dude get here already!**

**I will try to fix my spelling mistakes when I can, promise :-)**

**Oh yeah, I don't own.**

"Remind me why we had to be the ones traipsing though the bloody forest instead of going to see the mages," Alistair laments as he chops at yet another vine that hinders their progress.

"Because Gabriel will be much closer to the tower, since it is merely a boat ride away from Redcliffe, and it would have been a waste of time and supplies to go there," Lynx replies tersely as she hurls a hateful glare up and the broiling autumn sun, "It's too damn hot for Kingsway being half spent."

In her shadow, Spiorad rumbles his concurrence, then resumes panting to combat the moist heat. Unfortunately for the group, Leliana is as oblivious as ever. "When it gets this warm in Orlais, there are these decadent sweet cream concoctions that are blended with fruit, nuts, and sometimes chocolate before they are frozen. Once they are ready, they are scooped into little balls and served in thin, sugary cookies that have been formed into a cone shape."

A spike of fury shoots through Lynx and she is struggling with the urge to smack the bubbly Orlesian's head off of a tree trunk when she hears a noise. A quick look towards her war hound, whose ears are perked intently, confirms her suspicions. "They're here."

A female elf, clad in oddly sensual armor, materializes from behind a large oak, "Outsiders are not welcome here, turn back or face the consequences."

"Andaran atish'an falon," the mage slips into her father's native tongue with ease, "Emmaen dorf Wardens isala na hahren sahlin."

The Dalish woman leers at them with narrowed eyes for a few seconds, then gives a curt nod, "I will take you to Zathrian, it is up to him to decide if he will hear you."

"Ma serannas," Lynx replies and signals for her companions to stay on their guard as they file down a trail after the elf.

"You never told me that you spoke Dalish," Alistair accuses under his breath as the number of elves escorting them continues to grow.

"My father was a Dalish trader whose clan came from the Orlesian side of the Frostbacks," she explains in hushed tones, "my mother's mother was also one of the Dalish, but was exiled for loving a human man. She ended up raising my mother in the alienage at West Hill. My mother eventually ran away though when she discovered her mother had arranged a marriage for her and literally ran into my father a week later. Does that suffice as an answer, or should I tell you where babies really come from?"

"How romantic," the Chantry sister coos, her eyes glazing over with whatever delusion her mind has conjured this time, while the almost Templar chokes in embarrassment.

"Oh yes, so romantic. Creating a life that grows up loathed and unwanted by either side of your bloodline, then add eternal damnation-courtesy of your precious Chantry-for being a mage. You're right Leli, I don't know how I ever refrained from swooning over the whole thing before," the Warden mocks in a sugary tone before quickening her pace and leaving her companions gaping like fish.

Lynx struggles with mixed emotions as the walls of brown and green give way to a sheltered clearing. The huntress leads the quartet over to a bald elf whose energy makes her skin crawl. They are then forced to wait as the elven woman relays all that has transpired.

It takes so much time that eventually her barely contained anger lets loose, "I can understand everything you are saying and me being a mongrel has no fucking bearing on why we've come so get over yourselves for a fucking minute and listen to what we have to say."

The other elvish woman's eyes glimmer with unbridled hatred, but the creepy harhren waves her aside and bows, "Ar abelas Warden, she is young and often struggles to control herself. I am going to assume that you are here to call on our aid against the blight? I am afraid that we will be of little use to you, as my people have been afflicted by a strange illness."

The apostate expertly muffles her apathy while the keeper, Zathrian, explains a plague that was brought to them by werewolves and their leader Witherfang. As he weaves his tale, something in her gut warns her that the hahren is not being entirely forthcoming with all the details, but before she can voice her doubts, Alistair pledges their aid to the dodgy keeper. All in all, it's almost enough to make her wish they'd gone to the tower instead.

Two days later things go from bad to worse when they stumble across a group of mercenaries battling a pack of wolfmen twice their number, and losing badly. They race to help the former, having learned of how the infection is spread from a werewolf that was once a Dalish woman, but end up going on the offensive when one of the warriors bugles, "The Grey Wardens! They die here!"

Between the Wardens, their companions, and the hairy wolf creatures, there is no contest. Fortune smiles upon them when instead of attacking, the werewolves utter a second warning before melding into the forest.

As the three do their customary search and loot procedure that is normal after a fight, Lynx accidentally steps on one of the fallen attackers hands and receives a groan of pain in return. She drops to her knees and rolls the man onto his back, then places a hand over his nose and mouth until she feels shallow breathing. "We have a live one guys!"

Alistair stands over Lynx and Leliana while the golden haired elven man is healed then bound with a length of rope. Ignoring the pain in her side, their leader jolts the would be murderer back to reality by tossing her leg over his prone form dropping onto his stomach. It is then she sees the clearest pair of tawny eyes she's ever seen and she knows that she will not kill this one, at least not today.

"This is certainly unexpected. I supposed that I would wake up dead, or not at all, as the case may be," he smirks, causing an explosion of warmth in her lower half as he shifts to get more comfortable on the uneven earth, "But here I am, a warm seat for a deadly sex goddess."

"Your death can still be arranged, so don't fucking push me pretty boy," Lynx growls, inwardly cursing her moment of distraction incited by his intense gaze, full pouting lips-

"Well, since our bodies are already so intimately connected, it would only be proper to tell you my name," he banters as if they were conversing around a table and he not trussed up like a pig, "My name is Zevran, Zev to my friends, and it is a pleasure to meet you."

She forces herself to brush off his attempts to flatter her and presses her dagger to his nether regions, "You'll have to change your name to Zevrana if you don't tell me what I want to know."

"Che bella creatura e mortale si e," the elf purrs, pressing his neck to her blade and his hips against her backside for a few seconds before relaxing, "I will gladly answer any question you put before me la mia dea, all you need do is ask them."

"Who sent you to kill us? Was it Loghain?"

The assassin slides his tethered hands downward and rests his head on them, "I do believe that was the name of the man I was brought before, but there was another hawkish type as well, Howe I think his name was. The Crows do not pay much attention to those who hire them as long as they pay well."

Lynx and Alistair exchange a perplexed look before the almost Temlplar asks, "What is a crow, other than a big annoying bird?"

"I can answer that," Leliana happily chirps, nearly bouncing with enthusiasm, "He means the Antivan Crows, an organization of elite assassins that practically rule Antiva. He must not have been a very good one though, since we're still alive."

"You wound me bardo bella," Zevran declares with mock sorrow tugging at his features, "You were simply more talented than my employers were led to believe. Loghain was not as forthcoming as he should have been or I would have been better prepared."

Alistair snorts impudently and crosses his arms over his metal encased chest, "And why should we believe you? You must think we are royally stupid if you expect us to take you word on anything that you don't have proof to back up."

The assassin winks at him, "Because bel raggazo, I was paid for my skill with a blade, not my silence, and since my life will be forfeit when the Crows learn of my failure, I see no harm in bartering information for my life."

"But why here? Wouldn't it have been easier to wait and ambush us on the highways?" Lynx manages to find her voice again despite the heat seeping out of his torso and into her lower half.

"That was the original plan dea, but we'd hoped to shorten our time on the road by cutting through the forest," he concedes with a self depreciating smile, "That decision has proven to be both a blessing and a curse."

A sliver of compassion worms its way into the woman's conscience, spurning her to lean forward and cut his bonds before standing, "Your life belongs to me now Crow, and you will aid me in my appointed task until I kill you or feel your debt has been paid. And before you harbor any thoughts of completing your mission, know that what your employers would do would be paradise in comparison of what I will do to you should you betray me."

Graceful as a cat, Zevran shoots up to one knee and takes her free hand in his own calloused ones, "I am your man, without reservation, until you release me from my vows."

"You're letting him come with us?" Alistair yowls from behind her, "Did you hit your head when I wasn't looking and suddenly forget that he and his little lackeys just tried to kill us?"

"If you want him dead, do it yourself. I have enough blood on my hands to last centuries. Besides, whether we like it or not, we need all the help we can get," Lynx tosses her knife at his feet, then hands Zevran his own gears, "If you are hurt, tell me now so that I can heal it, I don't want to hear any more complaining today."

The Crow does a rapid inventory of his faculties, then gives her a smile that makes her quake inside, "A few bumps and bruises, though I wouldn't mind a more private examination to be sure that I didn't miss anything."

The mage yawns in fake boredom to hide her flush then gives him a flat look, "You'll have to do much better than that if you want to impress me. Now get moving before I change my mind and slit your throat after all."

"As you wish la mia dea," he bows and readies a crossbow taken from one of his fallen goons before silently padding after his new mistress.

**Heehee bet you didn't expect that one :-)**

**Tranlsations**

**Andaran atish'an falon, Emmaen dorf Wardens isala na hahren sahlin-Greetings friend, we are grey wardens and need to see your leader immediately.**

**Ma serannas—thank you**

**Ar abelas-I'm sorry **

**Che bella creatura e mortale si e-what a beautiful, deadly creature you are**

**la mia dea-my goddess**

**bardo bello-lovely bard**

**bel raggazo-beautiful boy**


	15. Chapter 14

**Yeah I'm in a typing mood XP lol**

**again sorry for spelling mistakes. please point out the ones I end up missing :-)**

**No ownage by me.**

After aiding a talking-and maddeningly rhyming-oak tree and disposing of a delusional apostate moonlighting as a hermit, the group finally finds their way to the ruins serving as the werewolves den. An encounter with Witherfang has Alistair-who hasn't drifted far from Lynx's side since Zevran joined their merry band of madmen-nearly crawling onto the mage's back as they trade the hazy evening breeze for the cooler, stale air of the subterranean complex. Their newest member and the bard pick their way across the iron gray stones a few yards ahead of the other three in search of any hidden surprises the wolfmen may have left in their wake.

As they cautiously traverse the ruins, Alistair betrays his frayed nerves by talking nonstop. Lynx unwilling learns more about the various kinds of cheese in the world, his days at Recliffe, then the monastery, and even his alleged minor obsession with his hair than she ever wanted to know between runs in with all sorts of nasties that have taken up residence. She feels a pang of regret though when his silence is earned with the blood of a handful of hatchling dragons and their young mother. Discovering the gem containing the arcane warrior and being infused with the long forgotten knowledge helps to alleviate it, but only a little.

"Bel dea, what matter of import makes you forget to nourish yourself?" Zevran's accented tenor jerks Lynx out of her rumination, "If there something I can do for-or to-you to relieve some of your tension?"

She sits her bowl of vegetable soup down for her mabari to finish and hides a genuine yawn behind her hand before her violet eyes shift to the other elf's tawny ones, "I'm just tired, so please keep your thoughts and your hands to yourself. Unless you want them removed permanently that is."

He flashes her another devilish smirk, but thankfully scoots farther down the stone bench, "I did not mean to offend you, most illustrious Warden, I was merely attempting to brighten your spirits a bit. You are beautiful as you are, but you are radiant when you bless us mortals with your smile and I'd hoped to be blessed it again. It seems it was not meant to be though, but I shall not lose hope."

Lynx emits a less than lady like snort as she heaves her tired form to its feet and shuffles over to her bedroll. After she's laid down and purged her annoyance, she opts to scare the Antivan off for her own well being, "I'm not a bitch in heat Zevran and while I'm slightly amused by your antics, it would really be best if you quit this farce while you're behind. I might have to incinerate you otherwise."

She rolls away from the infuriating elf, then tugs her cloak up over her shoulders. The mage is almost asleep when she hears Leliana's quiet timbre, "I'd watch myself around her Zevran, were I you. Lynx is a beautiful creature, I am unashamed to admit, but she is also near as feral as the creatures we are trying to neutralize."

"You sound like you admire her, if not more," the Antivan accuses mirthfully as the first dulcet chords of the bard's lute thrum though the air.

"She is a wild and untamable dream come true, as lethal as she is lovely," Leliana confesses wistfully, making the target of her backward praise roll her eyes, "But our leader is also delicate and all too breakable my friend, and I will not allow her to be taken advantage of."

Zevran doesn't answer immediately and Lynx finds herself startled back to wakefulness when he suddenly speaks up again, "And what made you come to the conclusion that I am planning on "taking advantage" of her, my lovely little songstress?"

"The truth?" the bard chuckles quietly for a moment, "You want to know why she spared your life and think she is naïve enough to fall prey to your seduction, which you would then use to glean the information from her. That is a mistake that would cost you your life, of that I am certain."

"Even if that were true, a ravishing woman such as she seems like she would enjoy a bit of seducing, no matter the reasoning behind it," he counters, obviously thinking he's won the verbal sparring match.

"Actually Zevran, all of your tactics and ill timed flirtations just make me want to turn you into a donkey so that your face matches your personality," the hedge mage deadpans calmly without moving to face them, "Now if you two would kindly shut up and stop talking about me so I can sleep, I'd appreciate it."

Neither seem emboldened enough to reply and soon Alistair's rhythmic snoring drowns out any possible conversation, giving the beleaguered mage enough of a reprieve to finally doze off.

The next morning, or evening-it's hard to tell underground-she is awakened by Leliana and Alistiar's combined laughter as the Orlesian instructs her fellow Warden on how to cook and edible breakfast. She sits up and rubs the grime from her eyes as she scans the room they had barricaded themselves in hours earlier. An unwanted bout of anxiousness grips her until she spots Zevran crouched over a bucket, scrubbing his face, neck, and rigidly muscled bare torso with a wet cloth.

_Oh my._

Desperate for a distraction, she pushes Spiorad off of her feet and turns away from the sight as she stands and stretches. "Looks like we all survived another night. Any signs of the white wolf or his entourage?"

"None bel dea, but the scent of old death lingers in the deeper passageways," the assassin offers as he saunters closer, the rustling of fabric alerts her to his now clothed state so she spins on her heel to face him," Although I am sorry to say that the spiders will still pose a problem."

"I hate spiders," the bard whines after handing her leader a bowl of seasoned broth and a hunk of traveler's bread, "All those legs and eyes, so unsettling, it makes my skin crawl just thinking about them."

Lynx dips the bread into the soup and takes a bite while ticking through their options, "Well, I might be able to burn their webbing out of the corridors, but I can't promise I won't catch the place on fire or scare off the bulk of them."

"Just do what you can Lynx, every little bit helps," Alistair interjects, placing himself between the two elf bloods, "Do you think we'll find Witherfang today? Gabriel and the others will start to worry is we are gone too much longer."

Letting her senses expand, the hedge mage pushes her psyche out at every angle until she finds what she seeks, then immediately draws herself back in, "The stairwell we found last night leads down another level and I feel something different down there. Something that is natural and yet not. It must be Witherfang."

"The missive Loghain gave me did not mention that you were also trained as a ranger," the Crow shakes his head solemnly and begins strapping on his leathers, "For such a decorated warrior, that idiota missed so many crucial details."

"So he did give specifics on us," Lynx comments after setting the empty bowl aside and wiping her face, "How many others did he give you stuff on?"

"Just you, me, and Duncan," her brother Warden spits and the elf nods his confirmation, "I asked him a whole slew of questions while you and Leliana washed up last night. I'd planned on talking to you and Gabe about it when we met up."

The mage bobs her silvery head in understanding, "It makes sense though, focusing on us three. Duncan was the Commander of the Grey Wardens, so that rat bastard had to make sure he didn't survive whereas you and I posed a threat to his claims of what happened that night since we had a really nice vantage point up in that tower and could stand as witnesses to his cowardice."

Her companion spouts a few more colorful words, artfully aiming them at his newly acquired breastplate, then fixes his chocolate orbs on her, "I did see it Lynx. There is no doubt in my mind that he called for the retreat _after_ seeing the signal fire."

Fuzzy images tug at her mind as she strives to recall the horrific events that took place. Half formed images of seeing the columns retreating in the downpour, Alistair's woeful bails, and her apology to her father slice through her like a knife.

"I'm starting to remember," she murmurs with a dead look in her eyes as she reaches for her own battered armor and starts shrugging it on, "I think we might need to kill Loghain twice when we finally catch up to him."

Alistair's razor sharp smile is all the agreement she needs to propel her into a more jovial mood as they break down their camp and unbar the door that leads to their temporary haven.

**Yeah not too much happening, except for figuring some important things out.**


	16. Chapter 15

**Anyone else being driven up a wall over the itty bitty text in DA 2? My eyes hurt just thinking about it.**

**Nope, no ownage on my behalf :-(**

"I am weary little wyldling, do not be sad for me," the Lady coos soothingly to Lynx, who kneels beside the forest spirit, "This is the only way we may all be free."

"I wish there had been another way," the mage sadly admits as the corporeal body of the Lady begins to diffuse into a bright light, then washes over the gathered mass. When the light diminishes, the chamber is filled with humans. Naked, grief stricken humans, the occasional elf tucked in amongst them.

"What will you do now?" Alistair breaks the silence as he hurriedly spins around to hide his eyes from the amount of naked flesh bared as he can.

An older man with gray peppering his temples accepts a pair of breeches that are being handed out and dons them before answering in a voice that can only be Swiftrunners, "The Lady told us that our ancestral lands were to the south, so that is where we will go."

"If you run into trouble that way, turn to the Frostback mountains and seek out a Chaisnd chief by the name of Kieran," Lynx advises to the surprise of her companions, "Tell him that Lynx sent you and he will do his best to aid you."

"Your mercy will never be forgotten sister," he bows to the apostate, "When you face the archdemon, we will answer your call."

"Thank you," she replies, a hint of emotion trickling into her tone, "Now we must go, our companions await our return."

Farewells, along with the ruins, are long behind them when Zevran sidles up beside her, "A question, if I may dea? Why did that uomo call you sister?"

Lynx gives a weary wave of her hands then shrugs, "I don't have a solid answer to that Zevran. Maybe it's because I was so respectful of the Lady or possible because I've also lived most of my life in the forests of Ferelden. Then again, it might be because I didn't once treat them like anything less than people while we were trying to figure this clusterfuck out, but who knows these things?"

"What will you tell the Dalish about their Keeper then?" his amber eyes glimmer with what could be construed as concern, "They will not be pleased to learn that we played a pivotal role in his demise."

"I honestly don't care whether they're happy about it or not Crow," she retaliates with a shard of annoyance slicing through her words, "We held up our side of the bargain and ended the damn curse, just like they demanded. If they decide to renege on their end of the deal and refuse to honor the treaty, then I'll burn the whole fucking forest down around their pointy ears."

"Lynx, you can't burn down the entire Brecillian forest because you're angry!" Alistair splutters from behind the pair.

"Didn't Duncan always say that Grey Wardens are to achieve their goals by any means necessary?" she counters, throwing him a questioning glare over her shoulder until he nods, "Well, if torching the forest is the only way we will garner the support we need to get shit done, I'll do it gladly."

Zevran's head tilts as he raises an eyebrow at her, "If you would do this for your duty, I sympathize with anyone you get angry at. I am truly blessed that you allowed me to live."

"Shut up bird brain," she scowls then shifts into a silvery white fox and lopes on ahead of the group to discourage any further discussion.

Lanaya is the first to greet the party as they enter the encampment, a knowing expression on her face as Lynx returns to her natural form and approaches the Dalish woman, "Zathrian is not with you, I felt his passing. What happened to him Warden?"

"He died removing the curse he put in place centuries ago, though both human and elf are free of it as a result," the mage declares without an iota of sympathy, much to the rest of the groups dismay, "Now you need to send messengers to the other clans and remind them of the oath your people made to the Grey Wardens."

The other elf bows, her eyes glistening with fear and gratitude, "I will get started immediately cousin, it is a small price in recompense for what you have done for us."

Resisting the urge to scoff, Lynx signals the others to head out, "Ma Serannas. I don't mean to rescue and run, but we still have to resupply before we can be on our way."

The new hahren utters her goodbye and as soon as the companions are out of hearing range of the wild elves, Leliana squeals and begins giggling, "You should have seen your face when Lanaya called you cousin, it was priceless! Although I couldn't tell at first if you were going to hug her or hit her!"

"Hey Alistair, do me a favor and gag her before I turn her into a ferret," his fellow Warden growls while attempting to conceal a shadowy smile, "And the next person she tricks into giving her sugar I'm going to fry extra crispy."

The ensuing laughter is enough to scare flocks of birds out of the surrounding thicket. Hours later though, the almost easy going banter is cut short as they make a heart wrenching discovery that lights up the northern horizon like a false dawn.

Lothering is burning.

For all of her crassness and sharp wit, the devastation is enough to move Lynx to silent, sorrowful tears as the inferno continues to rage long into the night. Zevran's scent of honey, cloves, and leather brings some small measure of comfort when he brazenly envelops her in his arms and murmurs words of comfort in his native Antivan while she weeps against his chest.

**Short I know, but like I said before, I'm typing the chapters out how they came to me :-)**

**And I have to say that Zev has balls of silverite for hugging her while she was upset lol**


	17. Chapter 16

**I still don't own, so don't waste your time by suing me.**

**PS- If anyone knows of a f!Hawke/Fenris fic, let me know please :-)**

"Are you certain that it was darkspawn who committed this horrible act?" Leliana simpers, her cerulean eyes never deviating from the greasy black plumes drifting up from the wreckage all around them.

"Yes," the Greycloaks answer together, then the mage continues alone, "There were a fair number of darkspawn corpses that were still intact enough to decipher them from the other bodies. They've moved on, but are still too numerous for Alistair and myself to take on alone."

"So many dead, those poor people," the bard sobs and turns towards the almost Templars blackened breastplate, who turns a pretty shade of red as he hugs her,"We can't let this happen to another town, not if we can help it."

"That's been the plan, or it would be if we had an actual plan instead of flying by the seat of our trousers," Lynx mumbles, then instantly becomes uncomfortable when the pair begins reciting the Chant of Light in unison, "We ought to get moving posthaste, in case the horde decides to shift its gaze back this way, or worse, towards Redcliffe."

You are not certain of this?" Zevran prods, pulling the hood of his cloak up to ward off the mornings drizzle, "I thought the legendary Grey Wardens could innately tell when darkspawn were nearby."

The apostate turned Warden solemnly shakes her wintry head, "There are too many darkspawn trawling the area to be sure of which direction they are heading so I have to assume they will eventually move on Redcliffe, since it is the most populated town in the area after all."

"If Gabriel and the others have had troubling convincing the Circle of our need, Redcliffe may have no warning," Alistair gasps, then hurriedly shoulders his pack, "We have to leave right now and bust our bums to get around the horde so we can warn everyone! Dammit, we need horses!"

"I'm going to regret this," his sister Warden groans before tossing her pack at him and affixing the form of a warhorse in her head, "Give me a minute."

A tingling heat rushes through the mages body as she merges with the mental form. She feels her body become fluid as it lengthens and increases in bulk, then the ether solidifies, leaving a grey and white dappled mare standing where the brash hedge mage once did.

"Maker's breath, I'm never going to get used to that," the young man crows while trying to keep himself from being knocked down by a bouncing mabari as Spiorad dances around his mistress.

Lynx huffs in annoyance, then swings her long head at her back. The two men give each other a dubious look while the Orlesian saunters up and strokes her neck before gracefully climbing on. Zevran follows next, after a licentious promise of a gentle mounting, leaving the almost Templar fretting loudly about his concerns of her being able to safely carry the trios combined weight. Unable to thoroughly express her irritation in this form, she waits until one of his unarmored hands wanders into the vicinity of her mouth and bites him. Hard. After a yelp at the unorthodox chastisement, Alistair rubs his injured limb and clamors on without another peep.

After her riders are situated somewhat securely, Lynx glances down at her mabari-who gives her a toothy grin and an encouraging woof-then charges forward at a full canter, her hooves racing across the cobblestoned highway.

She runs most of the day, supplementing her speed and stamina with magic when she can. Although she would never admit to anyone, the mindless running also helps to scrape the gruesome remnants of Lothering-and the haunted look in Alistair's eyes-from her psyche. The gentle cadence of hooves does make her mind wander into other places she'd been trying to avoid however. Like the unforeseen feelings of protectiveness she is developing for Alistiar and Gabriel. There are only a handful of people in all of Thedas who have ever awakened that sensation in the irreverent apostate, two of whom are long dead now. Even Duncan, as wonderful as he had been to her, was merely a means to an end and was paid in full with her body for it. Hell, in the beginning, she'd only allowed Alistair to follow her out of the Wilds as a way to repay the Wardens. But now...

_Creators, paragons, and gods alike damn the day that man ever hugged me._

Her comrades plead for a respite near the northern fringe of the Hinterlands. Lynx eases herself back into her natural form while the others hobble off behind various shrubberies. Shaking off her sudden craving for herring, she rifles through her pack until she finds a lyrium potion and knocks it back in a single drink, then caps the empty phial and tucks it back in her bag before scrutinizing the area.

"I'm not sensing any heavy darkspawn presence yet," Alistair announces as he wanders over to her and halts a little too close for comfort, "We should take a few hours to east and maybe eat while we have a chance. I found a little stream and a campsite nearby that we could use up that way."

"That sounds peachy, my back could use a rest after hauling your heavy asses all day," she banters while hoisting her bag and motioning for her war hound to follow.

"Do you hurt so badly la mia dea luna bella?" Zevran coos as he materializes on the path ahead of her., "I have been told that I have a particular talent for lessening such burdens for a time."

"Yes I do, but my admission is not an invitation Zevran," Lynx snaps, belying her disquiet at the other elf blood's proximity, "And I'm getting tired of reminding you that your so called charm has no effect on me. Change your tune before I cut out your tongue and feed it to you."

"I can be a complete gentleman when the occasion calls for it dea," he argues so earnestly that the mage is inclined to believe him for a second time, "Can you fault me for wanting to keep my savior in peak health?"

"Urgh, fine, if it will shut you up," she finally concedes while vainly trying not to envision those cursed tanned hands of his on her skin, "But if you even think of trying to do something stupid, I-"

"Will fry me, boil me in my skin, or do something else equally as painful," he cuts her off with a devilish smirk, "I heard all of this the first time my dear Warden. All I plan to do is help you relax, though if you would choose for something more interesting to happen I would not object."

A flash of seeing the assassin's nearly bare physique while he washed flickers through her thoughts and the air suddenly feels warm on her pale skin. Noticing her reaction, Zevran's smile widens, "Ah, do not be shy mia cara, I vow to be very gentle with you."

Lynx's temper flares fast and white hot, "Just because I agreed to this foolishness does not mean that I am going to enjoy being pawed at."

"Of course," the former Crow replies with a dip of his head as she stomps passed, muttering curses the entire way.

"Remember what I said," Leliana mutters a moment later as she too strolls towards the camp.

"Dolce tormento dea," the man sighs and waits for Alistair to shamble by before trailing after his comrades.

**Translation-**

**la mia dea luna bella-my lovely moon goddess**

**dolce tormento dea-sweet tormenting goddess**


	18. Chapter 17

**Argh, did anyone notice that Aveline, Sebastian, and Fenris haven't been added to the character list yet? All these problems and FF can't even update the characters lists, I'm so disgusted.**

**Sorry for any spelling mistakes, my brain's on switch broke so I'm stuck on stupid today.**

**I still own nothing copyrighted.**

"Alistair, Lynx! It is good to see that you are safe," Gabriel gushes as the two groups merge on the seldom used road, "Did you find the elves?"

"Yes we did, though were unavoidably detained since they had needed our assistance," Alistair answers while shaking his brother Wardens arm, "How has your lot fared?"

The former nobleman's bright smile fades at the inquiry, "Not so well Alis. Rogue mages following a blood mage named Uldred attempted a mutiny while the Circle was weak and ended up summoning demons when their plans didn't go as they'd hoped. We had to clear the tower of them before Knight Commander Gregoir could invoke the Rites of Annulment."

"How can they not expect these things to happen when they keep anyone with an inkling of magical talent locked up like animals?" Morrigan growls, unexpectedly giving voice to Lynx's own thoughts, "Death would be a far kinder fate."

"Because all mages, especially the young ones, must be taught how to control themselves," an older, gray haired woman argues in a cultered-and a tad haughty-timbre as she presses through the gathering, "And they also must learn to defend themselves against those spirits in the Fade that would seek to use them for nefarious purposes."

"And who the fuck are you, that you sing the praises of slavery?" Lynx demands, her eyes boring into the interloper's as she takes a step towards the other woman.

"My apologies sister," Gabriel deftly wedges himself between the opposing mages before things get out of hand, "This is Wynne, a healer of the highest caliber and someone who wishes to aid us in our cause."

"Tis easier to see her as a trained pet, I do, and it's worked fantastically thus far," her fellow apostate comments in an overtly sweet tone, "But I see you've also found yourself a new pet, what kind of tricks does this one do?"

"Ombra di belleza, I am Zevran Arainai," the elf bows and kisses her hand before she has a chance to free it, "I am the beautiful Wardens personal guard, but in my former life I was an Antivan Crow, it is quite the pleasure to meet you."

"I think he may be trying to get even with you for backing out of that massage," Leliana whispers as she watches Morrigan wrench her defiled limb out of the assassin's clutches and storm away from the mixture of introductions cropping up.

Lynx ignores the teasing Orlesian and slinks over to the other Wardens. "Does this mean you have not investigated the goings on at Redcliffe yet?"

Gabriel's gaze settles on the red hills that rise over her left shoulder and shakes his head, "We were on our way to check it out when we discovered a contingent of Loghain's troops loitering on the road just outside of the town, so instead of getting ourselves dead-as you like to put it-we chose the prudent path and diverted up to the circle tower first. This is the closest we've been to Redcliffe since then."

"Well, if this isn't a happy little clusterfuck then," the mage grumbles to herself before sizing up their expanded roster of meat shields, "Since no one is entirely sure of what is going on down there, I'm wondering if it's a good idea to take everyone in."

"Do you think it wise to divide your forces when you stand weakened as you are?" the Sten questions in his rough baritone.

"We may not have the luxury of staying together my large friend," Gabriel responds and pats the giant's broad shoulder, "Why don't we hear Lynx out before any decision is made."

At his words, all eyes turn to the wild woman and she feels her stomach knot. "I simply thought that we might be less conspicuous if we split up. If any of Loghain's men are still lingering about, we'll draw less attention if we don't march in looking like a huge mercenary band."

"A fine argument," Zevran muses aloud, inciting a handful of approving noises from the rest, "But at what angle do you propose our entry?"

"First Morrigan and I will scout out the village, which shouldn't take more than an hour," the mage's annoyance with the Antivan's double entendre show itself in her tone, "After that, some of us can masquerade as bodyguards for Bodahn, while the rest come is as refugees."

"And in what manner do you assume we execute this plan?" the swamp witch huffs, her ocher eyes flaring, "I cannot alter another's form."

"You have your ways and I have mine," the apostate turned Warden winks at the other woman, "So quit acting all superior and follow my lead."

There is something smug that clings to the face of the white furred fox that suddenly appears in the space Lynx once occupied, mainly inspired by the fact that Morrigan looks like she's just been beaten at some game that she'd only known the rules to. She utters a sharp yip to spurn the other mage into changing into one of her alternate shapes and darts off in the direction of town.

Within minutes of her impressive little show, the recognizable scent of moss and water lilies heralds the appearance of a shaggy black canine, its golden gaze furious as it races to catch up with the agile fox. She manages to stay just out of snapping distance of Morrigan's jaws as they run, since she is almost positive that the witch would take a chunk out of her hide for no other reason than she is a sore loser.

Lynx has fallen uncomfortably close to the sharp teeth of her companion when they break the tree line then immediately yelp and cover their noses with their paws against the acrid scent of decaying flesh. Piles of rotting corpses burn on the shores of lake Calenhad while men and women scamper to make repairs to the watermill and Chantry house.

Something terrible has happened here. As she absorbs the grisly sight, a man with red brown hair and dirty but well made clothes directs a line of men carrying crates that smell of food.

"Careful men, we can ill afford to spare even a single crate," he is commanding the workers, though his voice is more kind thatn the mage assumed it was going to be.

"What'll we do when these are gone then Lord Teagan?" one of the men inquires as they move acorss the trail, oblivious to the onlookers, and start down the hill.

Teagan's—she assumes that he is Teagan- sculpted shoulders slump, "Pray to the Maker that aid comes before that happens."

His woeful expression worries at her conscience until she can no longer stand it. She whines to Morrigan and jerks her head over her shoulder, telling her to head back, before turning tail and racing to where the others are without a doubt impatiently waiting.

By the time the second shape changer struts back into sight with her natural form reestablished, their leader has already recounted what they'd witnessed.

"What do you think could be ailing them?" Alistair simpers more worriedly than usual, his hazel gaze drifting to the castle turrets spiking the afternoon sky.

"The entire place reeked of death", Morrigan comments apathetically, "Perhaps t'would be best to turn our attentions to endeavors not so useless as this."

Lynx is quiet long enough to start earning a line of scowls before finally shaking her head negatively, "Normally I would agree that the village is lost and we should move on, but I can't help but get the feeling that whatever is happening cannot be natural and will spread if we turn a blind eye to it."

"When you say unnatural..." Leliana's features are pensive as the leave her question open.

"I think someone or something has been playing with necromancy," Lynx confesses, making her brother Warden's groan and execute an identical motion of dropping their heads into their palms, "And it's beginning to fray the Veil."

**Translations-**

**ombra di belleze-shadowed beauty**


	19. Chapter 18

**I think everyone knows about the epic fail of FF, so I'm not even going to try to make excuses.**

**I also went back and tried to repair some of the gruesome spelling mistakes I made last chapter and hopefully got all the ones in this one...oh my grammar sucks today lol**

**I still don't own either.**

"-I can feel the Veil beginning to fray."

"I have to assume by the look on Alistair's face that this is a bad thing, yes?" Zevran asks close to her ear, nearly making Lynx jump out of her skin at his nearness.

"It's most definitely not a good thing," the almost Templar agrees without a hint of the sarcasm he usually reserves for the assassin and Flemeth's daughter, "It also means that we're going to have to do something-and fast-before all hell literally breaks loose."

"So how do we fix it?" Gabriel's intense gaze passes over each of the mages present, "I mean, do we simply find the one responsible and stick a sword in them, or do we need an enscorcelled needle and thread to stitch it closed? No one had the time to explain things when we were clearing out the tower."

Lynx snorts a chuckle at her fellow Warden despite herself, "Neutralizing the mage or mages who are doing this is a good start, but a sewing kit would do little good in this instance."

Something in her husky tone must have betrayed her thoughts because Alistair loudly sighs, "We're splitting up again, aren't we?"

"Yes we are. Same groups as before, since there is no reason to break a machine that seems to be working to our advantage," the mage declares and picks up her pack, "Gabe, you and yours head on down to the town and see where you can lend a hand. While you do that, sniff around and try to guesstimate when all of this crazy ass stuff started occurring. We'll try to find a clear path to the castle and hopefully glean more information on what the Arl's condition is and, with any luck, maybe get enough info to fill an any blank spots on everything else."

As everyone shoulders their gear and readies to move out, Wynne stomps into Lynx's path, an indignant expression etched on her features, "If you are going to investigate the validity of Arl Eamon's illness, I should be going with you."

"Not a fucking chance. The people down in that village need your healing skills more than some pampered noble with a stubbed toe," the apostate turned Grey Warden replies through clenched jaws, she really does not like this preachy schoolmarm, "Unless you view one person as more important than a whole village?"

"What? No!" the senior enchanter gasps and flounders to defend herself, "I simply thought-"

"You thought that you would come along to babysit the more dangerous of the two apostates that you've been forced to deal with?" Lynx mocks and has to force herself to remain stoic in spite of the sniggering that erupts from Zevran and Morrigan, "No thanks Wynne. Even if I didn't think that you'd be more useful with my brother, I still wouldn't have asked you to accompany me."

She pulls the hood of her mantle up and starts to walk by, but the elder mage halts her with a firm hand on her arm, "And why not? What have I done that offends you so badly?"

"Mainly it's because I don't like you all that much. You represent everything I abhore about the Chantry and the Circle of Magi. People like you eagerly accept your cage and seek to ensnare others to share it with you while I revel in my freedom even as I am hunted," the white haired mage sneers contemptuously as she prepares to jolt the other woman's hand with electricity.

Feeling the surge of energies in the air surrounding the women, Alistair grabs Lynx's other arm and gives it a gentle tug, "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

The annoyed leader reins in a snarl and shakes her hands to dissipate the electrical charge that had encompassed them, "Fine, but be quick about it."

He leads her a few yards away from the others, only stopping once he is convinced their conversation will not easily be seen or overheard, "Erm Lynx, I need to tell you something-a few things actually-that I've umm been meaning to tell you for a while now. It's just a bit more diffic..."

She levels her violet orbs at him, "Just spit it out Alis, daylight's burning."

"I just wanted to tell you that you are umm, and extraordinary woman, to have undertaken all of this and I err," suddenly he thrust a hand up and nearly hits her cheek with a vibrant red bloom, "Like this rose, you are a beautiful, wild thing, something that one never expects to find thriving amongst the darkness threatening to consume us."

"Are you calling me a flo-" her question is cut off as the man's lips crash into her own. Luckily she's able to overcome her instinctive reaction to zap him with a bolt of lightning and merely pushes him away, "What the fuck?"

"That was too soon wasn't it?" he innocently inquires once he processes the look on her face.

"Alistair, the end of time would have been too soon for a kiss from a Templar," she does her best to keep the fear and anger out of her tone, "What in the hell has gotten into you, kissing an apostate like that? I could have killed you, you stupid boy."

The young man's face pales alarmingly and he shuffles a few steps back, "I-we-I though you felt it too, the connection between us..."

Her irritation dissolves at his obvious confusion and she takes a second to compose herself before answering, "We do have a connection Alistair, I won't deny that. You, me, and Gabe are the last Grey Wardens in all of Ferelden, orphans that are bound to naught but one another and the ghosts of those who perished at Ostagar."

"No, there is more to us than that, I know it," he argues with a shake of the head, his eyes glittering with unshed tears, "I can feel it Lynx, in my bones. I love you."

"It's not love that you're feeling," she carefully closes the distance between them and gingerly rests a hand on his pauldron, "This infatuation you have is borne out of a need to squelch the loneliness clawing at your insides. I've felt it myself a time or two, but do not mistake it for love. I am merely someone to cling to because you want to feel wanted, but I cannot help you with this Alistair."

"I should have known this would happen. After all, who would want a Chantry raised bastard?" he murmurs, shrugging off her words, "Even my own father didn't want me..."

"Wait, is that why Eamon sent you away, because you're his son?" she asks before she can stop herself.

"No, Eamon sent me away because Lady Isolde couldn't bear the constant assumptions that I was though. My father was...," the young man draws in a shuddering breath, "My father was King Maric. I'm a bastard born to a serving girl who worked here at the castle."

"So you're not just any run of the mill kind of bastard, you're a royal one? Fanfuckintastic," the mage weakly attempts to joke and is rewarded with a hint of a smile for her efforts.

"I might have to use that line next time I need to tell someone my dirty little secret," he pauses and runs a hand through his hair, making it stand on end wildly, "Look, can we forget all of this happened? You go back to being all scowly and shocky and I'll return to being my rakishly handsome, cheese loving self, if you don't mind."

"As you wish," she acquiesces, then on an impulse, hugs the almost Templar, "Things will get better Alistair, I swear it."

**Poor Alistair...**


	20. Chapter 19

**Because of FF's fuck up's, I'm going to try to get a few chapters typed out and posted today :-)**

**Still no ownage on my behalf.**

By the time the duo awkwardly rejoins their companions, Gabriel and his group have already taken their leave.

"Is everything alright?" Leliana prods at Alistair as the lone mage gestures for Zevran to take point with her.

"It will be," he replies and aims a tentative look at their leader, who bobs her head in agreement.

"So the Chantry boy finally made his move and got his little nosed bruised did he?" the Antivan inquires in a low tone a little while later as his pace hastens to match Lynx's, "I hope, for his sake, that you let him down gently dea."

"Eavesdropping again Crow?" she quirks one snowy eyebrow as she glowers at the elf, "Didn't anyone tell you that it's rude to listen in on people's private conversations?"

"Well, I know little about dropping eaves la mia dea, but I learned a long time ago that occasionally listening in on other people's private chats can be a life saver," he smirks and points his chin to the rose being twirled in her fingers, "Beautiful flower, I will not disrespect it or you by saying otherwise, but roses are much too common to be likened to one such as yourself."

"If you start comparing me to various weeds and brambles, you will spend the rest of your short life discovering what it's like to have your head shoved up your scrawny ass," Lynx snarls menacingly before he can start waxing poetic.

"You are such an unusual creature, mia cara, for most of the women I've encountered-and I assure you that there have been many-enjoy it when they are doted upon," Zevran laughs in response to the hate filled glare targeting him, "It would do you a lot of good if you learned to accept a heartfelt compliment every now and again."

"First off, according to you, you don't have a heart Zev, and second, why should I smile and play nice with every bumbling fool who kisses my ass?" she retaliates, then her shoulders droop, "Besides, receiving a compliment from a person usually just means that they want something...and if you don't give it, they will simply take it from you if you're not strong enough to defend yourself."

Unexpectedly, the assassin grabs her hand and spins her around to face him, "La mia dea della luna bella, I would never dream of trying to take anything from you that you did not offer freely. I maybe be a murderer and a thief, but I have never, nor will I ever, force myself on anyone."

His words, so similar to those that Duncan had uttered, leaves the woman with no scathing remark nor witty retort to shield herself with as his hand comes to rest on the soft curve of her cheek. Zevran, taking her silence for acceptance, leans forward and brushes a feather soft kiss against her lips before letting her go, "I will never ask for what you are not ready to give, but you will have to forgive me if an errant thought or ten wanders through my head from time to time."

"Why did you kiss me?" her blunt question, mumbled through tingling lips, is nearly lost on the wind as she dizzily resumes their trek.

"Because when you fall asleep tonight, I want your last thoughts to be of my lips on your rather than that overgrown puppy's clumsy affectations, " the elf qualifies just as the puppy in question-along with Leliana and Spiorad-comes jogging up from behind.

"Something feels off here," the other Warden states in lieu of an apology for the intrusion, "I think it would be safer if we stuck together."

Lynx gives an approving nod to his logic and they spend the next twenty minutes in a tense silence as they plod along, their senses straining to find the source of their wariness. Their alerts heightens when a raven swoops out of the sky and shimmers into the form of the swamp witch as it touches ground.

"There has been a complication in the town and Gabriel instructed me to come and retrieve you."

"Gabriel wouldn't have done this if it weren't important," Alistair murmurs to his fellow Warden as they turn and begin to hastily retrace their steps.

"Maybe it has something to do with that feeling you keep getting," the mage ponders and brings her head closer to her fellow Warden's, "Thought this entire debacle is screaming trap to me."

"You have a keen nose for trouble," Zevran whispers on her other side, his body so close to hers now that she can feel the warmth of his body reaching out to her, "I am becoming quite grateful to Loghain for hiring my services mia dea, I may even send him a gift to thank him after all of this is done."

Bristling at his ill timed humor, but unable to remove herself from his proximity, she inclines her head in his direction, "Well, I certainly hope that your gifts ideas for him are more creative than the ones you've had for me because I somehow doubt that Loghain is the type who would appreciate an Antivan massage or a lanky elven assassin warming his bed."

The other elf's eyes twinkle impishly as he dares to snake an arm around her waist and pull her into his side, "Oh no my dear Warden, those particular gifts are for you alone. I was contemplating something more along the lines of..."

He proceeds to explain an extremely deadly poison that has several agonizing effects that forces its victims to endure a living hell before it allows them to die. Lynx is so caught up in the rhythm of his lyrical voice that she actually forgets to shock him for putting his hands on her without permission, so when he suddenly releases her and points a finger to where their comrades have joined Gabriel's group, her mind is sent reeling with involuntary images of getting him alone in a room with a locking door instead of frying him to a crisp.

"-Teagan said that he believes that the creatures began swarming the town a few short days after his brother fell ill," Gabriel is explaining when Lynx finally remembers how to focus, "He came south from Rainsfere to see what he could do for Eamon, but has yet to make it into the castle proper."

"When did the Arl fall ill exactly? Did he know that much?" Alistair pushes, anxious for his idiotic foster father in spite of the less than stellar treatment he'd received before being carted off to a monastery.

The former nobleman wipes the gathering sweat from his brow with a rag and blows out a loud breath, "There have been rumblings from the townsfolk that either Isolde or Loghain had a hand in this, but there has been no way to determine when. We must read carefully in any case, who knows what else lies in wait."

"Maybe Morrigan was right," their leader hears herself saying, "I'm not sure we can save this place and we still have to secure Orzammar's support."

"You can't be serious!" Alistair explodes, throwing his shield and helm down, then lunges at her, "We can't leave these people to die, they need our help!"

"Give me one good fucking reason why we should risk the last three Grey Wardens in Ferelden for a town that is already doomed?" she snarls, her violet orbs flashing dangerously, "We have to stop a fucking blight Alistair, not play politics and toy soldiers for every gods damned person who cries for help."

Maker's breath, you are a heartless bitch," he spits, his massive form quaking with barely restrained fury, "You've obviously been an apt pupil for the swamp bitch and your pet crow."

At his words, a cold smile bleeds onto the woman's face, "No little Templar, I've always been like this, how do you think I have survived all these years? It's something I like to call self preservation."

"How come you didn't run away after Ostagar then, hmm? You could have walked away at any time and no one would've been the wiser," he barks, his grin vicious.

"Some of it was to repay Duncan-and the Grey Wardens-for saving my ass, though another part of what kept me from running was because I was scared out of my wits every bit as much as you were," she admits, causing the young man's grin to crumble, "But I'm here now, and that's what matters, isn't it?"

"I think we ought to stay and do what we can," Gabriel gravely confesses, his emerald eyes locking with Lynx's, "We have to try and break whatever curse that has befallen these people, if only to ensure that it does not spread."

Alistair fires another dark look at the female Warden, "I'm staying to help no matter what. I couldn't live with myself if they died and could have done something to prevent it."

"Pragmatic idealists, all of you," Lynx grumbles as Leliana and Wynne give her a disgusted look then hustle after the two men.

The others trail after, leaving only Zevran standing at her side, "What is your wish dea?"

"I can't leave my idiot brothers to die alone," she mutters and marches down the hill after them.

**Yeah, we already know that Lynx isn't too fond of heroics, so I can't be too angry at her.**

**Translations-**

**La mia dea della luna bella -my beautiful moon goddess**


	21. Chapter 20

**K, here we go again lol**

**Nope, still don't own. Dammit.**

"Well, it's not the smell of your beloved Antiva, but rotting flesh is rotting flesh, in my book," Lynx snickers, floating high on adrenaline and lyrium as she takes a moment to rest her aching form against the dilapidated windmill.

Zevran wrinkles his nose and folds himself onto a crate that is sitting beside her, "This aroma reminds me more of the docks I frequented to hone my skills than the tannery I lived over dea, but I am touched that you would remember such a trivial thing when far more important events are unfolding all around you."

"I might be one crazy bitch among many, but I pay attention to those I ca-," she drops her head to avoid his penetrating amber gaze, "You know, like how I know about Leli's shoe obsession, Alistair's fondness for statues, even the knowledge that Morrigan is a closet jewelry hound, and..."

She feels his now gloveless hand cup her chin and allows him to raise her face closer to his own, "Do not be embarrassed by those attachments you've permitted yourself to have mia cara, as I have a feeling that at least a few have become quite...enamored with you as well."

Something in his eyes makes the woman wonder exactly who that confession was for, but the line of thought is abandoned when one of the militia comes running, so wasted that he stumbles at her feet, "Warden-monsters-Chantry-must hurry..."

_The Chantry, the place where everyone who is not fighting is hiding._

"Fuck. Zev, go get Sten and Leliana, we're going down," Lynx instructs after dowsing the elf with a rejuvenation spell, "We might just make good on dying tonight after all."

"If that's to be the case, then you must forgive me for this," he replies and is suddenly before her, then kisses her with a fiery passion before she can react-or more importantly-refuse him.

A hole is torn in the apostate's carefully built walls as their mouths dance together, a perfect cadence of push and pull between two entities too afraid to give in to the other. Only half aware of the chaos erupting around them, her hands form a mind of their own and thread themselves into the Crow's honey wheat locks and she finds herself whimpering a moan when he crushes her lithe physique to his bulkier one. Then-just as quickly as he'd claimed her- he is gone, stalking across the scorched grass in search of their companions.

"What are you doing to me?" she whispers, her fingers unconsciously ghosting over her swollen lips before she can restrain them.

"Warden, we must go now!" another soldier warbles, startling her back into motion. With a whistle for Spiorad, she catapults into a run, leaving the war hound barking happily behind her.

The first clusters of undead do not see the pair of silvery killers until fangs, fire, and steel cut them down. When the mage spots Wynne working on the unmoving form of Gabriel, the dull roar of battle is broken by an inhuman scream. The defenders are even more shocked when in response to that feral cry, a dozen wolves, a handful of wild cats, and four really pissed of looking bears emerge from the wall of darkness around them. The animals seem to obey the white haired woman's silent command and take up defensive positions amongst the weary warriors. Alistair looks to his sister Warden and is taken aback by what he sees. The elven woman's long snowy hair billows around her like a mass of silver serpents and her eyes glow a malevolent violet beneath the crimson splattered on her pale features.

She shrieks out a stream of curses in some unknown tongue and launches herself into the next mass of reanimated corpses as he watches, dumbfounded by her wild demeanor.

There are too many creatures between them and it takes what seems like hours to get close enough to call her name. "Lynx! What in the Black City are you doing?"

He lets out a startled yelp when she crouches, then springs into the air and lands on a corpse. She shreds it with her daggers before he can think to lend a hand and it is only as she stands and wipes a new swath of gore from her blades that he notices that she is barefoot again.

"I'm protecting you," she literally growls, the sound of her voice as terrifying as an angry mabari's, "Now stay out of my way, I don't want to accidentally hurt you if I forget you're actually a Templar who doesn't want to kill me."

He nods dumbly and doesn't say a word as she dashes off. Honestly, he is too afraid to. Instead, he shouts to the men about piling the bodies on the cluster of pyres built for that very purpose, then downs a health potion in preparation for the next batch of monsters.

At the fringes of the firelight that swirl near the lakes edge, Lynx paces like a caged beast. Her senses are in overdrive and the mingling scents of honey, leather, and clove reach her nostrils before Zevran ever saunters out of the light and into the gloom.

"Che bella creatura, sei perfetto," he murmurs from behind her, making her shiver when his nose and lips blaze a trail down one short angled ear and over her neck where her armor is damaged, "Deadly sex goddess indeed dea."

"What do you want Zevran?" the mage tries to snarl, but it comes out more of a purr.

"Hmm, you are the first person to ever ask that and want a truthful answer," he hums into the soft flesh behind her ear, "What would you say if I told you that I wanted to pleasure my mistress until she lost her voice from screaming my name in ecstasy?"

A single word pulls some of the wildness out of Lynx's mind, "I am not your mistress and you are no slave Zevran Arainai. The only one holding your leash now is you, no one else."

"And what if I wish to be your eager slave?" he asks, though his hands glide down her taunt body and gently encircle her wrists at his words, "What would you tell me then dea?"

"I would tell you that you are a madman with a death wish and I have not the time or patience to play another one of your silly head games, " she snaps and jerks away from his touch while vainly trying to will away the dampness spreading in her smalls.

"You still believe that I am doing this as a perverse way to entertain myself?" he challenges, then shakes his head when she cannot help but nod in affirmation, "I suppose I deserve that, though I can assure that this is not the case, I swear it."

The woman forces herself to swivel around and lock eyes with him, "You've known me but a few weeks Zevran, and I haven't yet forgotten that your original goal was to murder me, Alis, and Gabe, so I'm going to ask you one last time...What do you want?"

His lips flit against her own, then migrate to her jawline, and finally up to her ear, "I want you, more than I've ever wanted anything in my life. More than seeing Antiva again, more than finding mountainous pile of golds, even more than escaping my former masters. You have consumed every thought, every action since you spared my life and I am scared to death by that fact, but still I can't find the strength to get away before it kills me."

She cannot decide if she is lucky or not when a group of undead clamors out of the water at that precise moment, interrupting any answer she may have had.

**Lol the more she resists, the more Zev wants her.**

**Translations-**

**Che bella creatura, sei perfetto-What a beautiful creature, you're perfect**


	22. Chapter 21

**Wow, my writing must be getting terrible, only two reviews for 3 chapters. I'm gonna go cry now.**

**I own nothing.**

"Today we stand victorious because of the Grey Wardens..." Teagan's impromptu speech oddly reminds Lynx of Ser Jory and her earlier excitement at surviving the night melts, leaving her exhausted and more than a little waspish as the townspeople celebrate around her.

While Gabriel and Alistair are ushered to the forefront in order to accept the Bann's gifts and praise, the mage slinks into the empty house Teagan had insisted they make use of and trudges all the way up to the attic space that had been converted into a bedroom.

Quiet as her favored animal form, Lynx strips her battered patchwork armor off, then shuffles into the simple lavatory where a warm bath is-thankfully-already waiting. Spiorad makes himself comfortable on a pile of furs in the corner as his mistress releases her hair from its braided buns at the nape of her neck and sinks into the water with a grateful hum.

Unfortunately her mind is unable to relax as quickly as her body. _I don't want to go find these ashes, not even the Chaisnd were sure if those fanatics were speaking the truth about the Urn of Andraste. _she ruminates, remembering the blood soaked tales her Chaisnd protectors had regaled to the young ones when she would stay with them _How the hell is any of this going to be possible? It's not like any decision I make is going to make much of a difference in the end, I'll manage to piss someone off no matter what I decide to do._

A light thump and a series of moans from the room below calls the woman back to the present.

"Morri please, I need you now," she hears Gabriel whimper through the floor and has to clamp her hands over her mouth to keep from laughing when the swamp witch mutters something intelligible before what could only be a bed begins rocking against the wall rhythmically.

She glances over to the mabari, whose paws are now covering his head, and snickers. When she swivels around in the wooden basin, she scarcely refrains from frying Zevran, who is leaning against the door frame and smirking as he slowly looks her soapy form over.

"What are you doing up here?" she hisses angrily while internally cursing herself for leaving her bladed weapons sitting on a stool across the room.

"I wanted to talk to you Warden, without the chance of overeager ears listening in," he smiles and struts closer, but just as she begins gathering mana to strike, he spins around and sits with his back resting against the tub's side, "I have spent so much time telling you of my adventures, but you've given me nothing of yourself."

"Are you seriously asking to hear my life story?" she incredulously glowers at the back of his head, "I was under the impression that you had no interest in people's pasts."

"Is this not something...friends do?" he aims the question over his shoulder, "My apologies dea, I will leave you to your task then."

He moves to leave but an urge stemming from some unknown origin seizes her and the woman grabs his arm before he can get too far away, "No Zev, stay. I don't know much about...friendship protocol myself, but I will strive to answer your questions as honestly as I am able."

"Then I shall promise not to make it too painful for you dea," he lets out a low, easy chuckle and Lynx has to look away from the rare unguarded expression on his face when the sight incites a bombardment of conflicting emotions, one of which being a need to hear that sound of genuine mirth come out of him again.

He asks her how she became a Grey Warden, what life was like as an apostate, how she keeps herself from murdering her Warden brothers, and if Leliana truly did have visions of the Maker or if their bard just had a fondness for herbs of the hallucinogenic variety. When she is done with her thorough scrubbing, the assassin surprises her by swooping in for a quick kiss before shedding his own gear and taking her place in the tub, all of it done without a single libidinous comment.

To show gratitude for his restraint, Lynx waves her hand over the tub, purifying and reheating the water, then-after donning a tunic and thigh length leggings that actually show off one creamy leg and one covered in black swirling ink- mimes the position he'd held while she bathed. After a few minutes of the room being filled with silent splashes, she cracks her neck to relieve the pressure built up in it and sighs, "I cannot figure a few things out and it's getting very perturbing."

"Oh that sounds naughty cara," he banters playfully over the sloshing of water, "If you're curious as to whether this basin can hold two, I am more than willing to help you find out."

"Not that you ass," she throws him a rude hand gesture before continuing, "You heard Leliana say that elf in the tavern said that Loghain charged him with watching the castle, yes? What's bothering me is if Loghain wanted Eamon dead, where did all the undead come from? I mean it stands to reason that if you have dealings with someone powerful enough to use necromancy on the scale we've seen, why bother with poisonings and whatnot? It doesn't make any sense."

"Dramatic effect perhaps? For some, the presentation is as important as the deed itself," the Crow qualifies, then takes her hand and drops two leather ties into it before resuming his washing, "It is not necessarily a bad trait to possess but it can easily bring about ones downfall if they lose sight of their goals."

"Or maybe whoever it was does not want the Arl dead yet," a new voice chirps as Leliana skips in and folds herself down on the rug beside the mage, "Perhaps they are waiting to see if Loghain will be accepted as regent before moving ahead with their plans?"

"Like they're keeping Eamon as a back up?" Lynx muses, a little upset with herself at feeling wistful when Zevran's heat recedes from behind her, "By why? There are more powerful landholders out there than Eamon."

"How many of those said landholders have very personal ties to a certain bastard prince mia dea?" the elf in the tub counters as he steps out of the water and begins drying himself with a dry cotton cloth Leliana provides, "Even a blind man could see how our Templar frets for his former foster father."

"Use Eamon to get to Alistair? They must not know your brother very well if they have eyes for the crown," the redhead tsks while she strips and Lynx repeats the cleansing and heating of the water.

Not long after Leliana is comfortably situated and Zev has grudgingly tugged on his leather breeches, a knock on the door hearkens another arrival. This time their guest is in the form of a slightly mussed Gabriel, who seems nonplussed by the varying degrees of nakedness in the room, "Lynx, if you're not busy, I have an idea that I'd like to run by you."

"When did my bath become the war room?" the mage huffs even as pauses in her task of brushing her hair and scoots over to make room for the warrior, "Might as well spit it out now or Leli's head might explode from curiosity."

"I used to do this for my mother," the young nobleman grins and promptly takes the comb from her hands as he sits, then begins detangling her long locks, "Maybe we should send a few people up to the circle to bring down a few mages. I know you don't like them, but they might be able to help us figure out what is happening to this place."

"You know, I think our Templar would die of fright if he became privy to this little gathering," Zevran sniggers as he plucks the comb from Gabriel's hand and makes quick work of his own tresses, "Maybe I should go and fetch him?"

"I don't think the room is big enough to hold everyone," Leliana giggles, splashing water onto the floor as she ducks to rinse her hair, "But it could be fun."

Lynx shakes her head and ignores the sudden subject change, "I think asking those caged idiots to come would rapidly prove to be a double edged sword Gabe. They might be all sunshine and daises to all of you, but Morrigan and I are apostates little brother, and most of our repertoires consist of magics forbidden by both the circle and the Chantry."

The man's face goes ashen, "Which spells Lynx? And since I already know blood magic is one of them, you can skip it."

"Um, things like transfiguration, the Chantry thinks it's abominable to be a shape changer. We are nothing but demons to them," the hedge mage tries to evade, but is speared by his gaze, "Though I will take the time to point out that Morrigan thinks blood magic is reserved for cowards and murderers."

Everyone is silent for a moment, noticing her omission, until someone new breaks the uneasy quiet.

"You're a blood mage, aren't you Lynx?"

**dun-dun dunnnnnnnnn**


	23. Chapter 22

**Nope, still don't own anything copyrighted.**

**Sorry for the super short chapter.**

"You're a blood mage, aren't you Lynx?" the question is fired from the doorway where Alistair is seething.

"Would it truly matter if I were?" she retorts, unwilling to be ashamed of her actions, "Am I immediately a monster because I've done what I have needed to survive?"

"Of course it matters!" the crackle of wood splintering makes everyone jump as his fist connects with the door jam, "Maker's breath Lynx, people make deals with demons in order to learn blood magic!"

"Oh really?" the chuckle that bubbles out of her is blackened by anger as she gets up and walks over to him, "So does that mean all Grey Wardens are under the sway of demons because they use blood magic to perform the Joining ritual? I mean, according to you, they could only have gotten the knowledge of how to do it from a demon."

"No-" he begins, but the murderous glint is his sister Warden's eyes gives him pause.

"Don't you dare push me now Chantry boy, I remember the look on your face when I pointed out that little fact to Duncan right before my own ceremony," Lynx's tone is a venomous purr, "Get off your high horse and open your eyes Alistair. Everyone you know would be dead if they weren't hypocrites, including you."

"I admit that I can be a hypocrite sometimes, but at least I learn from my mistakes Lynx," he snarls, looking intimidating even without his juggernaut armor to emphasize his musculature, "But at what point do you stop being a hypocrite and start becoming the very monsters that you are sworn to destroy? What part of your soul aren't you willing to sell in order to save your own skin? I thought I knew what your limits were, but now...now I'm not so sure. It's getting harder and harder to figure out if you've finally bypassed being feral and dove right in to being a monster or if you have simply lost your mind."

"You need to leave this room right now," Zevran's quiet threat rings out as he uncharacteristically enfolds Lynx in an embrace and half turns to shield her from the furious Templar.

"You're damn right I do Crow, you're turning her into something as soulless as you and it makes me sick," Alistair mutters and stomps back down the stairs, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.

"Fuck you and the horse you rode in on Alistair! I didn't ask for any of this shit!" she screams at the empty doorway, startling her companions, "Maybe you ought grow a pair and take charge for once, since I do everything wrong!"

Everyone strains to hear his reply, but as time stretches on, they realize there isn't going to be one.

"Leliana, please go check on him. I don't want his anger to propel him into doing something stupid because he's too honorable or whatever to take it out on me," Lynx finally mumbles into the Antivan's shoulder as a lifetime of shame, anger, and despair unexpectedly crashes down on her full force and threatens to drown her in tears.

"You shouldn't have yelled at him like that," the Orlesian sighs in disappointment and pats the woman's shoulder before dressing, "He looks to you for guidance and you may not like what he becomes if you keep castigating him like this."

A silent, hidden sob is her only reply and, as the bard's footsteps fade, the elf holding her gently strokes her damp hair and murmurs soothing nonsense to her in his native tongue.

"Lynx?" Gabriel quietly calls some time later but eventually concedes defeat when she ignores his plea and soon follows the bard out of the room.

"I can't do this," she suddenly mutters once they are alone, the admission aimed more at herself than anything else, "I'm not a leader, no plucky hero. I should have just ran when I had the chance."

"If you wish to go, we shall depart together la mia dea," her self appointed protector declares, then pushes her back to take in her distraught visage, "I would follow you to gates of the Black City, if that is what you wished of me."

She gives him a mute nod and he presses a kiss to her forehead, "Stay here for the moment, I will gather our things. We can slip out while the others are distracted by Alistair's temper tantrum."

Too discombobulated to argue, the mage dons her armor and affixes her weapons while waiting. Spiorad, sensing her panic and distress, unfurls himself and lopes over to his mistress, shoving his blocky head into her hand when she fails to pet him immediately.

Her river of tears has slowed to a stunted trickle by the time the Antivan reappears with now fully stocked packs, "It would be more prudent if we took the window exit. Less resistance that direction cara."

Almost mechanically, she aids her mabari through the opening, then slips out next with the other elf following closely behind. Once outside, he leads her to a horse that has been saddled and wordlessly urges her onto the beast, giving her a glare when she tries to balk. It does not take long for him to win the silent argument and minutes later they are cantering west, away from arls and darkspawn and impossible tasks.

**Oh come on, tell me that this isn't something you haven't thought of doing when everything becomes too much to bare...**


	24. Chapter 23

**Nope don't own.**

**And a big thanks to Bobo Doom who took the time to review all of the chapters they've read, you are awesome!**

By the time nights falls, the mage and the assassin are safely ensconced in the rolling foothills of the Frostback mountains.

"We could be in Orlais within a week's time," Zevran informs his comrade as he tosses a few herbs into the pot of rabbit stew he is cooking then stirs it, "There is this wonderful vineyard we could stay at for a few days, the proprietor owes me a few favors."

"I've never been to a real vineyard," Lynx confesses, stretching to warm herself by the fire, "The farm I lived on as a child had an orchard, but Fiona used the stuff we harvested to make jams to sell so I rarely had the opportunity to dine on the fruit, let alone anything else like that. My father would occasionally filch a few peaches for me to eat, though Fiona and Aidan never said a word about it."

Zevran's honeyed orbs grow wistful, "My first taste of fruit came when I was about eleven, I think. A Rivaini merchant I'd been instructed to 'show around' had deemed a bowl of sugared fruits too sweet for his palate and bade me eat them. They were the sweetest things I'd ever tasted, even after I discovered that they had been poisoned and sicked up all over the man. That bowl of fruit haunted my dreams for months afterward."

Flashes of a much younger Zevran happily munching on candied fruits coax a genuine laugh out of the hedge mage, "It is hard to imagine you so young and naive, my infallible Crow."

"I am far from infallible dea, you've proven that many times over," he smiles, but it seems a bit sad to the apostate, "Being here with you, like this, only reinforces that."

"You're stronger than I am," she admits, her tone laced with self depreciation, "I spend so much time pretending that I am content with who and what I am when in truth I can't stand it. I hate being a mongrel blooded whatever I am. I wish that I was more like Leliana...or Morrigan...or you."

His mouth thins into a flat line and he shakes his head, "You do not want to be like me cara, you would have to give up so many wonderful things that make up who you are into order to do that. You are wrong if you thing you are the only one who has a lifetime of regrets spilling out behind them. Be glad of who you are, whatever that may be from day to day."

"Why do you act so flippantly about everything then?" Lynx can't help but to rise and move around the fire to sit beside him, "You act like nothing touches you, unless lust is involved."

"Because, like you, I prefer acting as if my past is but a distant memory and my future does not exist," Zevran reveals without looking at her, "Yesterday is gone and tomorrow is never coming, so take your pleasures where you can and forget the rest."

Flabbergasted at his blunt explanation, the mage rocks back on her rear and stares at the elf, "You are infinitely more complicated than everyone-including myself-gave you credit for, I'm sorry for that underestimation."

"You are a rare creature, to impart such confidence in a monster like me, but do not apologize because you could not see what I did not wish to show you mia cara," the Anivan offers an honest smile this time, "Besides, you have been equally as challenging for me to figure out."

Encouraged by his honesty, she winds her arms around her knees and rests her head on them, "So you decided to become my so called protector in order to decode me?"

The assassin moves in a blur, knocking her onto her back then covering her lean frame with his own, "That was the reason-at first-but within those first few days of watching you hunt for Witherfang and end Zathrian's curse, my reasoning grew more complex than that."

"M-more complex?" she stammers, her body beginning a lusful aria as his mouth lazily explores her shoulders, neck, and clavicle.

"You were the first person to ever resist my charms and it infuriated me," he murmurs, then makes her gasp when he nips at the soft flesh of her jaw, "I tried everything but sneaking into your tent like an amateur and stripping naked for you to find me as such. Then I got a chance to witness a sliver of the real you the night we came upon Lothering burning and was caught in a moment of weakness. I had to told you and was..."

"Was what?" she prompts when he grows still above her.

"I realized that when I was open and almost honest with you, you reacted more favorably and it scared the hell out of me," Zevran leans back to allow the fire to highlight her pale face, "I had no idea who the real me was, buried underneath all of the Crow conditioning, and I wanted to hate you so badly for making me delve into myself to find it. Not even...not even Rinna was able to find a place to settle so deep within my soul."

Without any added urging on her behalf, he unravels the mystery of his fallen lover, of his betrayal, and the true reasons behind his acceptance of the contract taken out on the Grey Wardens. When he concludes, he rolls onto his back, pulling Lynx to his chest in the process, and they lays quietly for a while before she gathers enough courage to break the stillness.

"Do you still wish to die Zevran?"

A calloused finger reaches up to trace her cheekbone, "No la mia dea. Whatever I cam looking for in Ferelden, I think I have found something much better."

"What did you find?" her question is nearly drowned out by the nocturnal sounds echoing around them.

"I found a purpose. Something worth fighting and living for," he shifts enough so that he can press his lips to hers, "I found you."

**Aw, so the Crow isn't just playing games, how cute.**


	25. Chapter 24

**I don't own, I just like to dement things to fit my twisted ego lol**

The next morning, Lynx is still dazed by the assassin's tender confessions as the horse carries them up an overgrown road that is now little more than a goat path. A sense of wrongness soon takes up residence in her psyche though when they encounter a lone guard on the rarely used trail.

"What are you doing here?" the man barks frostily while they slip off the equine and approach him.

"Just passing through and hoping to shore up our supplies my friend," Zevran flashes him a disarming smile though the taut muscles of his jaw show the Grey Warden just how tense he truly is, "And possibly a room for the night, if one is available."

"Haven has no inns, so you cannot stay here," the guard counters with growing agitation, "The general store is just over the hill. Get what you need and be gone by dark."

Spiorad emits an uneasy whine and Lynx gently strokes between his shoulder blades to calm him, "Thank you Ser, we'll be out of your hair in no time."

The man harrumphs and proceeds to give them hateful glares as they forge onward and into the eerily quiet village proper.

"Talk about hostile and uncooperative," Zevran snickers into her hair in an attempt to lighten the mood, "You are the very model of graciousness in comparison la mia dea."

"Stuff it Crow," she snipes but abandons the rest of her thought as they pass a lone child who is singing a very disconcerting nursery rhyme while playing with something that bears a stomach dropping resemblance to a finger bone.

Her companion tugs on her elbow and leads her to a mouldering building whose ancient sign reads ' EN R L OODS'.

Inside of the place, the stench of decay is almost enough for Lynx to make a mess on her rarely worn boots and a quick glance at her fellow elf blood belies that he too has taken note of the odor.

"What do you want outsider?" a lone man, presumably the shopkeep, simpers from across the space.

"My wife and I are making a trip north to Jader and need to resupply, as it seems we have made a wrong turn recently," the Antivan smoothly replies as he strolls over to the uneven counter, "We were hoping to procure a weeks rations, two sets of cold weather gears, and some feed for our horse. Oh, and a sack of black leaf tea, if you can spare it."

The owner's eyes travel down to Zevran's very visible money pouch and the man's greed overshadows his desire for the newcomers to be elsewhere, "Fine. Stay here, no ransacking my store while I'm gone."

"Wouldn't dream of it," the Crow grins and tucks his thumbs into his belt like she'd seen Sten do so many times. As soon as the shop owner disappears through one door, Zevran dashes through another, leaving the mage to her own devices.

Lynx, seeing nothing of interest but a large chest resting against the far wall, wanders over to it after a brief internal debate. Knowing that time is of the utmost essence as she crouches down, she quietly unlocks it with a spell and stuffs its contents into her bag without so much as a look. Near the bottom of the box though, she finds a pair of exquisitely made leather boots with an odd set of markings etched into them. Footsteps interrupt her inspection of them before she can decipher their origin and she packs them away before rushing to close the lid and resume her pace near the door.

"I think we may have a problem, my dear Warden," the assassin ruefully qualifies as he sidles up to her, "The smell is coming from what used to be a knight of Redcliffe, if the tabbard is anything to go by. I guess we know what happened to at least one that was sent this way, though I assume Bann Teagan will not be pleased with the news."

"If the Chaisnd stories are true, these people are religious fanatics who are obsessed with resurrecting Andraste," she explains in a strained whisper, "And a lot fucking crazier than me to boot."

"You forgot to say not even a quarter as beautiful," he coos in a normal tone as the human stomps back into the room, his arms overloaded with goods.

"Flattery will get you everywhere," she giggles for the stranger's benefit, though the sound becomes genuine when the Antivan winces under her penetrating violet gaze.

"Three sovereigns, take it or leave it," the owner announces after dropping his wares onto the counter and crossing his arms, "I don't have time to barter with the likes of you."

"You drive a hard bargain my friend, "Zevran cheerfully declares but hands over the coin after counting it out.

With money now in hand, the man's glare turns cold once more, "Now get out of my shop, you no good knife ears, before I call the guard on you."

Lynx can feel her temper spike in response to his scathing remarks, but is ushered out by her comrade before she can lay waste to the place and the jackass in charge of it.

"We will come back tonight, when less eyes are about," he presses a kiss into her hair as they notice an extra six guards now milling about the area, "This may be the place Teagan's friend from Denerim was searching for."

She answers with a barely perceptible nod and helps him tether their purchases to the horse before taking the northern route that leads out of town.

**Only Lynx could accidentally find a hidden town lol**


	26. Chapter 25

**I own nothing Bioware...or any other copyrighted material.**

"Snow will come this night," the mage informs her comrade as she snuggles deeper into her new bearskin cloak, "At least it will hide all the mud."

"I must admit that I have never seen snow, but it must be unpleasant if it only occurs in this damnable cold. Braska!" Zevran curses as he nicks himself for the third time since attempting to sharpen his daggers in the bitter cold.

Lynx heals the small but deep puncture, then promptly relieves him of both whetstone and blade before shoving a mug of tea into his stiff hands, "You have traveled all over Thedas and have yet to see snow? That's rich."

"Most of my assignments in other countries usually revolved around the warmer months," he defends as he vainly tries to suppress a shiver then hunkers closer to their modest cooking fire, "Antiva always had an overabundance of work during the cooler winter season, since it seemed everyone took advantage of the less oppressive climate and thus found ever new ways of offending one another."

"People in Ferelden usually hole up and make babies when it's too cold to travel or kill things," the Warden admits with a wry smile, "My father always said that he loved blizzards because that's how I came to exist."

"Maybe you can show me an entertaining way to keep warm when the time comes then, yes?" he taunts, making the mage roll her eyes at his antics, "If these blizzards are anything like the cold magicks you wield, it would give me days to worship your celestial self in ways that would keep us sweating instead of shivering."

"You're trying too hard again bird brain," she deadpans, throwing her immense cloak around him, then lays her head on his shoulder to protect her face from the chilly wind, "Keep it up and I'm going to get pissed off enough to turn you into a newt."

"Still having trouble accepting compliments I see," he shakes his head in mock sadness, "I guess it is a good thing that I enjoy a challenge."

"And I still hate head games," she reminds him, the now familiar warning edge creeping into her husky tone.

"I never said that it was a game dea, you did," he boldly chances a kiss to her forehead before leaning back enough to peer down at her, "Which reminds me, we have a few hours before it is safe enough for us to go and I've yet to enlighten you to the joys of an Antivan massage. Is it possible to tempt you with one now?"

Recalling his previous oath that he could prove to her his ability to be a perfect gentleman when the occasion called for it, it dawns on her why this seemingly libidinous act has become so important to him.

_He's trying to prove that he can be trusted._

"Fine, you have me at your mercy Zev, but don't abuse it," she concedes and nods her head in the direction of their lone tent, "It's too cold to be naked out here so I'm going inside."

The surprise in his eyes is echoed in his voice, although he makes a good show of concealing it, "Let me warm up my oils dea, then be prepared for the second greatest experience of your life."

One snowy eyebrow lifts, "And what's the first greatest experience?"

"That will be when I make love to you over and over again of course, la mia dea," he declares with that cocky half smirk that he uses when he's toying with someone.

Lynx snorts a short laugh as she gets up and retreats to the relative warmth of the canvas shelter. Inside, her mantle and boots come off easily, but a rare stroke of uncertainty hits her when it comes time to strip out of her armor and clothes.

_What the hell am I doing?_ She inwardly scolds herself _Attachments give you nothing but pain in the end. Why are you still allowing him to affect you like this? _Lynx drops her head into her hands _I don't know how he keeps worming his way in, but even if I did, would I be able to force him back out? S_he lifts her head and peers through the opening in the tent flaps just as he glances up and offers her a devilish grin _Creators, Gods, and Ancestors help me, but I'm not sure that I want the strength to push him away._

Then the most terrifying thought of her thirty years of life slams into her consciousness.

_Oh gods, is this...love? No, it can't be, it's not possible. No, no, no, no-_

Suddenly Zevran slides into the tent and Lynx finds herself scampering backward like he is carrying a plague rather than a handful of scented oils.

"Cara, what is wrong?" he asks, not bothering to disguise his worry, "Are you hurt?"

"I think I'm in trouble Zevran," she whispers, her arms curling around her middle protectively.

"What is it?" his amber gaze turns predatory as he draws his blades and begins searching for an unknown danger, "Darkspawn?"

She shakes her silvery head, "No, this is much, much worse than darkspawn, I'm afraid to say..."

He reaches out to touch her, but she withdraws until her back presses against the fabric of their shelter. "Dea, you must tell me what is frightening you so that we can dispose of it," the pleading tone of his voice heightens his brogue and she nearly screams in revolt against the urge to surrender to him.

"That's the problem Zev, I've tried to hide, tried to run, tried to kill it, but it won't fucking die," Lynx laughs a tad hysterically instead.

"Then what is it?" his tone is too calm, too even now as he scans her features.

She levels her violet orbs to his tawny ones and takes a shuddering breath before announcing, "I think I might be falling in love with you."

The assassin's visage pales to a sickening gray at her words and it takes a moment for the mage to realize that he is quivering like a leaf in a windstorm.

"Zev? Zevran?" she implores and extends her own trembling hand, but this time the Antivan shies away from the contact, so she allows the limb to drop back around her abdomen, "Zevran I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this...I didn't want thi-"

"Love? How does one love a soulless beast? Enlighten me Warden," he explodes then spits on the ground, "Crows do not love. People like you and I do not love. We fight, we fuck, we _survive._ What room is left for love? Why did you have to say it? Why now? You are ruining everything!"

"I'm sorry," she repeats, hot salty tears stinging her eyes as they struggle to escape and finally win, "You think I wanted this? Loving people gets you killed, I know that really fucking well Zevran. I'd take it back if I could, but I can't and it's all because you couldn't control yourself and leave me the fuck alone after I warned you to stay away from me!"

"I need...to think," he unexpectedly proclaims in a deadly clam voice then spins around and exits the tent. Just before he disappears from her line of sight though, he looks at Lynx over his shoulder and mutters, "You've damned us both."

**To sum it up in a word...Ouch.**


	27. Chapter 26

**I'm very grateful to those who have taken time to subscribe/favorite/review, but honestly it's starting to seem that my story isn't all that popular and it's making me wonder if I should just give up on this. Sorry if that brings you down, but writers on FF thrive on reviews and I'm not getting all that many whether I post one chapter in a day or four.**

**And if anyone out there still cares, I own nothing.**

Even hours after full dark has set in, he does not return to their encampment. Finally growing tired of waiting, Lynx breaks down the camp and hides the extra equipment before shifting into the shape of a pale silver fox and taking off in the direction of Haven.

She eventually becomes alarmed when the town appears empty, then her sensitive ears pick up on noises that seem to be chanting and the sound is emanating from what else?

_A gods damned Chantry._

After huffing at a shadow moving in the gloom, she lopes towards the building. The shadow following her molds itself into the shape of her four legged friend as he emerges from the black and greets her with a gentle nuzzle.

The apostate paws the ground, then puts her nose to it and Spiorad obeys the silent command by dropping his large head to the ground and setting off to search around the structure. She follows closely, aware that she would stand no change of surviving should they encounter anyone-including another mabari-in her current form.

Halfway around the stone building, the ghostly canine lifts his nose towards a window and woofs at her. Her dainty head swivels about until she finds a tree tall enough to suit her purpose then, after shifting into the shape of a barn owl, flies up to a branch near the opening and settles on it.

"I told you already, my wife and I were just passing through for supplies because we got lost, now please let me go!" she'd never heard Zevran sound so utterly unhinged as he wails at the four armed men who flank him.

"Two elves and a mabari traveling off the main roads, they might be trying to flee their masters," one of the Antivan's captors near the window admits ruefully, "That would explain the amount of coin he had on him."

"Who are you running from knife ear?" another drawls and Lynx grinds her beak at the awful slur.

"Lothering was swarmed by monsters, we would have died if we'd stayed, we had to run!" the assassin artfully whimpers, his eyes wild with fabricated panic as he strains against the ropes that hold him.

Another ruffian backhands Zevran across the face and the mage squawks before she can stop herself, then jumps onto the windowsill to get a closer look at these idiots.

"I don't think that bird appreciates the noise interrupting its hunting," the one who had struck the elf gloats before tossing a copper at her head and forces her to fall back to the tree branch once more.

"The others should be returning with the girl soon, the pair of them will make a fine tribute to Andraste," and older man wearing a set of robes often worn by Chantry sisters as he enters the chamber, "For now, let us commence with the evening's services."

The men trail out of the room after the supposed priest, leaving her companion trussed to his chair and bleeding from multiple cuts and abrasions. She waits a few minutes to ensure that the men will not be returning, then melds with her natural from and drops into the room.

"What did you do this time?" Lynx scowls as she goes to free him, but pauses when she discovers his bindings coiled on the floor, "How did they catch you?"

"I was...distracted, it was stupid of me," he mutters darkly then slips across the space to gather his gear from a creaky chest, "But you will be pleased to learn that I have uncovered something useful."

Impetuously she puts her hands on her hips, "Not another stray Zevran. I swear that I'm going to rip my hair out if I have to fix one more fucking idiots problems for them."

"I assure you, this is one stray who could shed some light on the situation here," he gives her a smug grin, then sneaks behind a bookshelf and comes back with a rotund man who is limping heavily, "May I introduce Brother Genitivi, world renown expert on all things Andraste."

Eamon, the undead problem, their former companions. It connects with the brute force of a bronto charge.

"You planned this Zevran."

**I know it's short, I'm sorry.**


	28. Chapter 27

**I'm sorry for my little rant last chapter, it just gets difficult to work so hard and not get a response for it...and I have a fragile ego. Please forgive me.**

**Nope, I don't own.**

The Antivan's smile dims when her purple orbs flare furiously, "Dea, you were scared, overwhelmed, and needed a way out before you and your fellow Warden killed one another. I gave you that, did I not?"

"Do the others know about this?" the question is thick with venom and hurt.

"They left a few hours after we did, with the hope that the knights quest for the Ashes would not only find a cure for the Arl, but learn of a way to cleanse the land of whatever evil has stricken it," he replies while they begin their escape.

"You lied to me," there is no mistaking the wounded overtones in her voice, "You've been lying to me this entire time and I was stupid enough to fall for it."

"I never lied to you Lynx," hearing him purr her name in front of someone other than Spiorad nearly makes her choke, "I only omitted a few details in order to put your troubled mind at ease if only for a little while. I had no intention of it souring as it did."

_You are ruining everything!_ The accusation bounces through her mind as they carefully extract the historian _You've damned us both._

_ Was it all an act?_ She climbs through the opening and down the stone wall, then catches Genitivi when Zevran lowers the portly human.

It takes a bit of effort, but they manage to share the burden of the lame man as they scurry to the relative safety of the forest and make their way to the niche where Lynx had stowed the horse and surplus gear earlier.

After mending the priest's ankle and hitting him with a sleep spell to shut him up, the mage storms over to her companion, "Give me a good reason as to why I shouldn't finish what I started in the Brecillian Forest you two-faced whoreson."

She is answered with a heady kiss, which serves to fuel bother her passion and her anger. When his mouth leaves her to allow her a lungful of crisp air, it migrates to her jaw, then her neck as she feels a sliver of cold metal slicing through the side lacing on her breeches. She tries to protest, but the yell devolves into a moan when he is suddenly inside of her, consuming her, his voice murmuring into her ear all the while as the night sings out with the sounds of their bodies crashing together.

"La mia dea, il mia amore, la mia anima," Zevran repeats each time her ecstasy peaks and she falls apart around him, "Tutto quello che sono ti appartiene."

The couplings in her past were always either a form of payment or as an expression of gratitude, but now...now it has become an entirely different organism. She loses her tenuous grip on reality and succumbs to the bliss her heart and body is calling Zevran and when the assassin sinks his teeth into her bared shoulder, his seed pulsing into her body, she vaguely realizes that he is showing her what he cannot bring himself to say.

Afterwards, he does not offer her loving words as he repairs the leather strip holding her leggings together nor does he suddenly dote upon her as if she were made of glass when they readjust each other's armor and reclaim their fallen weapons. What he does do, however, is pull her into a crushing hug and kiss her senseless before declaring that he will take the first watch. She silently obliges and is soon dozing wither her cloak wrapped tight around her, protecting her back from the stone she is reclining against.

Sometime later, the Warden is awakened by many more footsteps shuffling about their hidden camp. Off to her right, someone is strumming on a lute, to her left an all too familiar snore reverberates, and a pulsing wall against her face breathes in slow, measured breaths.

"I know that you are awake dea," Zevran hums into her hair and it dawns on her that she is huddled to his chest, one hand tangled into his long locks, "The others arrived during the night and offered to keep the watch while we rested. Who was I to pass up such a generous offer?"

"They hate me," she decides as he stealthily presses a kiss to the sharp tip of her ear.

"Not at all cara," he chuckles and curls an arm around her, "I might have left them with the impression that you wanted to get a head start on the investigation of the ashes-and give you and Alistair time to cool your tempers-while they gathered supplies. I've been leaving markers for them to follow, just in case were were lucky enough to find something before you calmed down and wanted to go back."

"And they believed you?"

He shrugs a shoulder, "I simply reminded them of your sweet disposition and infinite patience mia cara, and it seemed to placate them enough to let us go without a fuss."

"So why are you laying here with me?" she inwardly curses at her plaintive timbre, "I mean after everything that happened yesterday..."

"Because I covered you with my own cloak earlier and since I could not pry it from your fingers, I chose the easier route and took advantage of your little bubble of warmth," he grins but she sees something off in his jovial expression.

Reminding herself that this is not the time or place for such a talk to occur, she bobs her head in understanding, then slides out from under the layers of bear fur.

"Lynx!" Alistair's voice rattles her the rest of the way to awareness, coaxing a groan out of her, "If I ever argue with one of your plans ever again, just smack me! Brother Genitivi is almost positive that the Urn is somewhere on this mountain!"

"Like slapping you would miraculously turn you into something less annoying and temperamental than myself?" she immediately retorts, refusing to admit that she had missed the fool dearly. Then she remembers the things they had said and wishes that she were anywhere but in front of the almost Templar.

Without another word, she pushes passed her brother, but he grabs her am, "Lynx, I am sor-"

"Unless you want that hand taken off at the neck, I suggest you remove it from my body," she growls and is instantly freed.

"I just wanted to tell you that I am sorry about what I said to you back in Redcliffe," he continues as if she had not just threatened to rip his arm off, "You were right, Duncan always said that Grey Wardens must use any means necessary to defeat the darkspawn. I honestly don't know if that includes the use of blood magic, but until someone tells me otherwise, I'm going to assume it does."

"Alis-," she begins, but he stomps over to the fire and sinks down to warm his hands before she can complete her thought. Now feeling like something one would scrape from the bottom of their boot, the mage adjusts her path and seeks out the rescued historian.

"Are you certain that the Urn is here?" she forgos all pretenses as she stops to glare down at the man.

Genitivi swallows hard, but nods in affirmation, "I would need my notes to narrow down the most viable places, but I believe that the temple rests on the mountain peak right behind town."

"Fantastic, now I get to add mountain climbing to my growing list of 'Stupid Shit I Learned During the Blight'," she blows out an annoyed sigh and looks around, "Okay Ser Know-It-All, tell us where we need to go so we can get this over with as soon as possible."

"There is a structure on the mountainside," he confesses, pointing to the southwest, "It will most likely be well guarded. I will know more once we get inside."

She throws Zevran a glower that says 'We should have kept running' before directing her gaze to the others, "Alright, me, Zev, and the pup will head up first. Alistair, Leliana, and Wynne will follow us. Gabriel, you, Sten, Morrigan, and Ruby will bring up the rear guard and make sure nothing tries to take our asses out from behind. The bastards guarding the ashes are complete lunatics and were babbling about making tributes out of people, so don't feel bad for killing them."

"Wow Lynx, what has you in such good spirits?" Gabriel jokes as they begins striking camp.

Off to the former nobleman's right, she spots the assassin grinning cheekily and somehow keeps from frying him, "Oh, just looking forward to putting this shit behind us and getting back to stopping the blight little brother."

"Oh, I'm sure it has nothing to do with you being crushed against that tree last night," Zevran mutters, sauntering by and suddenly the morning's bustle is interrupted by a pained yelp.

**heehee**

**Translations-**

**La mia dea, il mia amore, la mia anima-my goddess, my love, my soul**

**Tutto quello che sono ti appartiene-all that I am belongs to you**


	29. Chapter 28

**Ok FF is still messing with me really bad, which is the reason I haven't been uploading...stupid blank screen when I try to upload to the document manager...anyhoo, I searched the wide wonderful web and hopefully have found a temporary solution to this crap, but expect me to revolt if this shit keeps up.**

**Nope, don't own.**

An hour later, while she, Spiorad, and Zervan search for an alternate route the the massive building squatting in the distance, the elf falls into step with the wild mage, "Cara, were you aware that Leliana cornered me before we left and practically ordered me to divulge the reason behind your favorable mood?"

Lynx quirks an eyebrow at him in silent query and he shrugs. "I did not tell her, of course. I would never bely what occurs between us behind closed doors, so to speak, and I must admit what our little songbird did next truly caught me unawares. She fussed a bit then pointedly expressed her desire for me to continue what I am doing if that meant you yelled less," he leans close enough that his lips graze the shell of her ear, "Then she offered her many talents as well, if any of them would placate you just as thoroughly. Being the gentleman that I am, I informed her that although I was fairly confident that I had things well in hand and doubted the need of her...skills...I would speak to you on her behalf."

"Oh I don't know Zev," she pauses and gives the assassin a slow, appraising look before continuing, "Maybe I ought to trade your attentions for hers, she'd probably be nicer than you. Until she started babbling about shoes and ball gowns at least."

"Nicer?" he blinks his eyes a few times before his shoulders begin quaking with laughter, "Did the half feral-not to mention deadly- sex goddess just make a joke at her own expense? Too bad our Templar is nowhere close enough to enjoy this, then again he'd more likely faint with disbelief."

"I did no such thing you pointy eared thug," she scoffs and resumes navigating her way through the bracken, "I believe that the hit you took to the head last night might be causing you to hallucinate."

"Of course la mia anima," he snickers, his amber eyes never deviating from her shapely rump as he follows, "My mistake."

Ten minutes farther up the trail, they are no longer laughing as their entire group of companions is surrounded by maniacs. Luckily for them that they seem ill equipped to deal with her as they scramble to escape both her blades and her spells. Spiorad lunges at those stupid enough to attempt a frontal assault while Zevran's razor edged daggers protect her from the rear.

Morrigan's malicious cackle rises over the din after a particularly large cluster of fanatics are felled under her gigantic spider shape. A man's guttural war cry is abruptly silenced by Sten as the qunari slices his opponent from right shoulder to left hip. Leliana and Gabriel orbit around Wynne, taking turns with sword and bow as the elderly mage fires consecutive healing spells to keep everyone in the fight. Alistair-currently paired with Ruby-focuses his smites on the enemy mages, choking the bulk of their offensive magicks before they ever reach his comrades.

After what seems like an age, the last foe drops with a disappointing squish, leaving the companions panting shots of steam in the ancient temples frozen main hall. They pillage the corpses while catching their breath and having their wounds healed, then scour the once resplendent chamber before pushing deeper into the structure...and into wave after wave of dragonlings.

"I'm starting to getting an idea of why they sacrifice people to Andraste," Lynx mutters after neutralizing a rabid mage and claiming his lyrium infused longsword.

"Because we taste good when deep fried and smothered in ketchup?" Alistair offers with a lopsided grin, earning himself a swat upside his helm from the bard, who mutters about Fereldens and their obsession with putting ketchup or cheese on everything.

"Why don't we ask him?" Gabriel interjects, raising the tip of his weapon towards a bear of a man who is wielding an ax and a helm with a pair of mismatched horns sticking out of it.

It is from Kolgrim that they learn of the alleged resurrection of Andraste, who has evidently come to her faithful servants wrapped in the silvery scales of a high dragon. This new Andraste also seems to be sunning herself in the rocky clearing that separates the outer temple from the inner sanctum.

Not even Sten complains when they decide to take a detour in order to slink around the lethal and overprotective serpent when it is mentioned just how many of the dragon's young the group had killed on their journey up the mountain.

The air in the next building feels wildly different than the first one, almost electric. As Lynx and the others enter the dimly lit chamber, she is stopped in her tracks by a single name called out in a voice she's yearned for twenty long years to hear again.

"Aurora."

The apostate slinks forward, terror and exultation struggling for dominance, until a figure emerges. An elven man with vivid violet eyes and bronze kissed skin stands before her, a rakish smirk etched onto his visage. "Aurora, da'len, you have grown so much."

"Pappae?" her ears do not recognize the sound of her own voice as she calls out to the memory made all too real.

"I've missed you terribly, my Aurora," he smiles and spreads his arms wide as she rushes to hug him, "I am so sorry that I had to leave you alone emm'asha."

"Pappae, you're back, that's all that matters," Lynx finds herself announcing as the young girl that was once buried rushes to the surface, "The Templars took you away, but now you're back."

"Ssh," the man coos soothingly as he strokes her pale hair, "You must listen emma'vheran, my time here is short."

Lynx childishly tries to bury her face into her father's shoulder, but he gently yet determinedly pushes her back until their matching gazes lock, "You must stop hating yourself for what you are, for who you are. No matter what others try to tell you, you are the most wonderful gift I could have ever received from the Creators. Do not blame yourself for what happened, the Templars did not come because of you that day da'len."

"Why did they destroy everything then?" she simpers, unable to stop the torrent flowing down her cheeks, "Why did they kill everyone Pappae?"

"Because a bad man was put in a position of power and he sought to destroy any who opposed his methods," the elf confesses and wipes away her tears with calloused fingers, "People like Fiona and Aiden. People like me, Cyrus, and little Kelsie. That man had told the Templars that Aiden was harboring maleficars and they believed him. They would have come that day whether you'd been a mage or not, my little Aurora."

She is quiet a few moments, absorbing the new information, and is too distracted to notice that her comrades are similarly shocked when she takes a ragged breath and peers up at the shade, "It's not...my fault?"

"No, da'lath, it was never your fault," the spirit smiles at her as he presses a leaf shaped silver medallion into her hand," Take this Aurora. Your mother wanted it to be given to you when she passed, but I could not bear to part with this last remnant of her until now."

"Mammae," the mage whispers, awestruck, and throws herself into the elf's arms for the last time, "I will never forget you Pappae, nor Mammae. Ma'arlath."

Her father presses a reverent kiss to her forehead, "Ma'arlath emm'asha da'len. Little Brock loves you as well. Now close your eyes and remember me as I am right now, not as the cursed Templars made you see me."

Cold wisps of air swirl around Lynx as she clings to her father, her eyelids clamped tight, but her desperate prayers are to no avail. When she finally gathers enough courage to open her eyes once more, her father is gone.

**Translations**

**emm'asha-my girl**

**emma'vheran-my heart**

**da'lath-little love**

**ma'arlath-I love you**


	30. Chapter 29

**Sorry about the delay, but what can I say? Real life sucks sometimes.**

**Sorry for any spelling mistakes.**

**I own nothing Bioware.**

Zevran is the first to move, darting over to the shaken hedge mage, "La mia bel dea, it is alright now, I have you." Pulling her to his chest, he quielty chuckles into her snowy hair, "This situation makes me contemplate the last words of the very first Crow master."

Sensing his attempt to put her more at ease, Lynx sniffles a weak laugh, "Always a bird brain...so what were they?"

"They were," he pauses dramatically and levels his amber orbs to hers, "I drank what?"

"You are a dreadful, evil man Zevran Arainai," she mutters through an unwilling chortle, then gives him a spontaneous kiss after he helps her to her feet, "Thank you."

"For what? Being ridiculously awesome? The is simply one of many free services I offer," the assassin smirks, acting as if they did not have a rapt-and thoroughly confused-audience hanging on their every word.

"Andraste's flaming knickers, would someone please tell me what in the void just happened?" Alistair booms, startling the mage badly enough that she would have ended on the floor once again if not for Zevran's lightning quick reflexes, "And why did that spirity ghost type call you Aurora? Was it delusional? Can spirits even be delusional?"

Lynx exchanges a glance with her fellow elf blood, then wearily steps away from him to stand alone, "That spirity ghost type-as you so eloquently put it little brother-was my father, and the reason he called me Aurora is because that was the name he and my mother bestowed upon me when I was born."

"I was right, your birth name is beautiful!" Leliana giggles cheerily and forces Lynx to dodge an attempt to embrace her, "So what is your surname, if I may ask?"

"Mahariel was my father's surname, I never knew my mother's though," the apostate confesses with a tinge of genuine sadness.

"There was another Warden that Duncan had recruited who claimed the surname Mahariel," Alistair interjects with a nervous shift of his plate mail, "Maybe she was a cousin or something? She was Dalish too..."

A scuffling in the next room prevents her from answering and they rush to investigate. Too late though they realize that they are not peering into a mirror, but instead are faced with doppelgangers of themselves. Lynx launches herself at her twin, ignoring the warnings of the others about the futility of fighting herself.

"That _thing_ is nothing like me," she snarls, eying the creature that embodies her hate filled, desolate past, then races to destroy it.

When the last creature finally evaporates into a plume of metallic tasting smoke, Lynx's uneven bangs hang over her face, dripping with sweat, and she rises out of her fighting crouch to asses the others.

Wynne is healing an arrow wound in Alistair's leg, Sten is bandaging his left forearm, and Morrigan is looking more pasty than usual-most likely from a a smite or a mana drain- and Gabriel is holding a poultice to his side. The others appear primed to aid her, including Zevran, though his eyes are hollow, like the way they were the night he'd told her about Rinna.

Brushing off her own hurts for the time being, she makes her way over to the Antivan, then deliberately winds her arms around his waist and lays her head against his cuirass, "I love you Zevran."

The declaration is uttered low enough that only its intended recipient hears it, and though he goes rigid at the words, she refuses to let him pull away, "I am not asking you to say it back-nor will I ever-but I do love you and you need to get used to it, since you are the one who pursued me until I couldn't run any more."

A long minutes passes before his features soften and he turns to press a kiss to the side of her head, "Tutto mi che sono ti appartiena la mia dea. To the gates of the Black City I would follow you."

For Lynx, the reminder of his oath is enough as he hugs her to him.

**Translation- Tutto mi che sono ti appartiena la mia dea-all that I have belongs to you my goddess**


	31. Chapter 30

**Still don't own.**

**Hell, at this point I think my husband is the only one left to read this lol**

**And yes, if anyone noticed, I did purposely mix around the Guardians trials.**

"I hate puzzles," Lynx whines, still rankled after exploding on the Guardian and telling him where he could stuff his asinine questions, then dealing with the cheery as a grave riddlers and subsequent shades.

"Ooh puzzles!" Leliana bleats a few feet away and hugs Alistair's arm, "Let's see if we can figure it out before the others!"

"This is a waste of our time Wardens," Sten growls, folding his arms over his massive chest, "We have darkspawn to kill and yet you continue to play these puerile games."

"Oh stuff it before I toss you into the pit of despair," the apostate snaps, earning a delighted chortle from Morrigan as they survey the yawning precipice that stands between them and their goal.

Just then Gabriel trips and stumbles onto one of the oddly colored stones that line this side of the cavern. There is a click, followed by a slight hum, then a misty form resembling a walkway materializes over the gap. The companions freeze and wait for the path to solidify, but after a quarter hour, it seems that more of these strange tiles need activated.

"Quick, find the other stones that solidify it!" Lynx barks, propelling everyone into action.

Minutes become hours as they toil to unravel the mystery of the bridge. When one of her comrades find a workable combination, she orders them to keep their place and watches for the final transition from smoke to solid.

A handful of hours and a cold lunch later, Lynx, Alistair, Zevran, and Spiorad cautiously pad across the now stone pathway and advance to the proceeding chamber.

There is an altar positioned just inside the doorway, though a magical fire spouts up to block the way when they try to move beyond it.

"You have overcome the challenges set before you Warden, you may approach the Sacred Urn once you have shed your worldly possessions and humbled yourself before the Makers bride," the antiquated Guardian announces from the far side of the inferno, then fades just as quickly before any questions can be asked.

Zevran catches the mage's eye and gives her a salacious grin before he begins stripping over his protective gear. She rolls her eyes at his blatant display and follows suit. It is only when she tosses her small clothes onto the pile that a sound from behind her causes her to turn.

Alistair, though still clad in his smalls, has his hands cupped protectively around his groin as he bounces from one foot to the other anxiously, "He didn't mean _everything_ everything, did he?"

The mage has to bite her cheeks to keep from laughing at the ridiculous sight before her, "Yes, I am fairly certain that he meant everything Ali, but you don't have to go with us. I'm sure that Zev and I are quite capable of scooping up some ashes and coming right back."

"No!" he yelps, then quickly turns his gaze anywhere that I am not, "I want to go with you Lynx. How many people get a chance to gaze upon the remains of Andraste?"

She ponders it for a moment before sauntering over to the doorway, "Wynne, Leliana, come in here for a moment!"

In seconds the two women scurry in and eagerly divest themselves of their clothes when their leader explains the situation to them.

In the end, she still has to bully her fellow Warden into shedding his smalls, "Alistair, to me, that is just a pot holding a charred dead woman, but she is an integral part of _your _faith. I could never drum up the respect that you do have for her and this is a once in a lifetime thing. So go pray, engage in some self flagellation or whatever, and bask in the love of your dearly barbecued prophet. Zev, the pup, and I will sit here and wait...and maybe remind you to filch some of the ashes if you forget."

"Alright Lynx," she mutters, but his tone is warm as she turns to shrug her clothes back on, "We shouldn't be long."

Famous last words.

The devout trio slowly ascends the stairwell and kneel to pray at the base of the seven foot tall urn. The apostate, the assassin, and the war hound wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Lynx eventually invites the rest of the group to join them as the fires dim and they are permitted to wander freely throughout the chamber.

They wait some more.

The party makes camp, then dinner. Morrigan and Lynx move on to making poultices while the others mend armor and sharpen their weapons.

They wait still more.

Zevran wears down his lover's defenses and they disappear into another chamber for a few hours to explore the new level of their relationship. When they return, those who are not waiting are sleeping.

Lynx opts to join those slumbering. Zevran soon follows, his body curled protectively against his Warden's.

The comments begin anew soon after she awakens. Zevran cheekily comments on the pretty vase and audibly wonders if it is available in another color, like blue. Sten's dry humor surfaces as well when he mentions that their companions are praying to a glorified waste bin. Morrigan inquires shortly after on whether that amount of charring would be considered well done or simply extra crispy. Lynx surmises it to be extra crispy.

By late afternoon, Lynx is ready to throw her hands up in defeat and go feed herself to the archdemon if it meant they could all fucking leave. Zevran is forced to distract her with the long anticipated massage in order to avoid the carnage.

She is slow to wake this time, but throws off the shackles of sleep when she spots Wynne, Leliana, and Alistair clothed and drowsing near the fire.

"Finally we can get the hell out of here!" she exclaims and does nothing to hide her glee as she races around the room to rouse her comrades, "Come on lazy asses, we're leaving right the fuck now!"

As they pack up and leave the chamber via a side entrance, there is not a single mention of Lynx's unabashed joy at being able to awaken the overtly religious trio with a few well placed kicks.


	32. Chapter 31

**Not even going to attempt to pacify anyone with excuses, you know how life goes. I still wouldn't expect regular updates though, just a warning. Oh, and any spelling mistakes are on me, sorry.**

**I still own nothing.**

"What do you mean he has to go alone?" Lynx challenges the arlessa who is currently clinging to Teagan.

"Teagan, who is this rabble that dares to speak to me so impetuously?" Isolde snipes at her brother-in-law, "There are places in Thedas that such disrespect would afford your tongue being removed from your head elf."

In a flash, silvered steel lashes out and lays open the noblewoman's cheek. The arlessa screams, her hands flying to the wound, spurning the mage's fellow Wardens to seize her arms and pull her back to a safe distance.

Teagn, his arms now wound protectively around the annoying shem, stares her down, "What have you done?"

Lynx gives him a dark smile that is void of any regret, "I just gave the bitch a permanent reminder to be a little more polite to those willing to save her...and what happens when she doesn't."

Horrified, the man looks from the white haired Warden to his brother's wife, then finally to the knights who seem at a loss on what to do, "I will accompany the arlessa as she bids me, Ser Perth will handle the details Wardens. We will deal with your insurrection later Warden Lynx. That is my final decision."

The group watches the pair retreat up the hill, then Lynx turns to face Ser Perth, but is blocked by Gabriel and Alistair.

"What in the Maker's name was that?" Gabriel booms, causing a few members of their group to jump at the sound, "Do you realize that even if you were innocent of treason before, all Loghain would have to do is look at Isolde's face to prove it now? How could you be so stupid Lynx?"

The Cousland's rant stokes the fire coursing in her veins and she lets out a vapid chuckle, "That bloody bitch is walking Teagan into a trap and you're standing here calling me stupid? That's rich, especially if no one thought to prove or disprove Isolde as being the demon orchestrating all of this-like I did-and sought to uncover the truth."

"So how did mutilating that woman help anything?"

She waves at her dagger, which is still in his hand, "That blade has a rune in it that wards off demons. She would have lit up like Denerim on First Day had she been possessed."

"So you let everyone think you'd lost your temper in order to fool Isolde had she been a demon?" Alistair's tone is pleading now.

"Yes, in a sense," she notices the Crow's mouth twitch at her half lie, and gives an inward sigh of relief when he does not call her on it, "Although it wasn't too difficult to act that pissed off, since for her voice alone I'd have gladly slit her throat."

"Yes, well Ser Perth has just informed me that the way to Teagan's secret passage has been cleared, "Leliana lilts, subtly wedging herself between the two angry men and their crazy sister, "The entrance resides under the windmill, so we should be making haste, no?"

Now acutely aware of their growing audience, Lynx spins on her bare heel to face the others, "Alis, Wynne, Gabe, and Zev are with me. Leli, you, Sten, and Morrigan stay here and keep an eye on things. I want to know if anyone is dumb enough to try to sneak up on us."

Immediately the group divides, though she spots the Templar touching a bloom in the bard's hair that she hadn't noticed before. _Damn, that girl works fast _she laughs to herself _Can't complain though, since it may lead to the rest of us being spared from both of their religious diatribe. _

Hours later, standing face to face with a mage who more than willingly brought all of Redcliffe's troubles to light-up to and including his employment by Loghain to poison the Arl to gain a full pardon-Alistair is suddenly not so cute and fluffy.

"You fucking traitor!" the young warrior screams over Lynx's shoulder as she shields Jowan from the other man's blade, "You deserve to rot down here, with all of your abominations!"

"He doesn't deserve to die because of some misplaced, idiotic loyalty to his country," Lynx argues, malevolent sparks arching across her fingertips, "Or are you saying that we deserve to die because of a loyalty to a dead order?"

"How many people have died because of him?" the almost Templar bellows, spittle flying from his mouth, "How many more have to die before you see what he's done?"

The female Warden shakes her head, "None have died by his hand, so far, but how many have died because Isolde didn't have the guts to admit that her son was a mage Alis? She was so ashamed of her own child because of the brainwashing done by your Chantry that she hired the first apostate she could find to teach Connor to hide what he is. Tell me where that's any better!"

He blinks in confusion, not knowing how to counter, "No Lynx, Isolde, she-because mages can't inherit titles..."

"So she wanted him to become a hedge mage like Morrigan and me, instead of being carted off to a stone cage for the rest of his life," the woman snorts in disgust, "You spend so much time denouncing what I am, what Morrigan is, and yet here you stand, defending that spineless bitch for doing the same as we." She claps her hands mockingly, "Bravo Alistair, proving your hypocrisy once more."

"I am no..." the words die in his throat and his pauldrons sag as understanding washes over him, "I-I guess you're right. But that doesn't give an answer on what to do with him."

Her gaze mimes her brother's and they fall still, scrutinizing the caged mage.

"We conscript him," she finally decides after a few minutes of deliberation "We need all the help we can get, so he's more than welcome to join you, me, and Sten in the 'I want to be redeemed' club."

"I am not sure that I like this," her younger brother reiterates while she unlocks the cell door and hands over a healing potion to the mousy looking apostate.

"We don't have to like it Alistair," she says in a matter of fact tone, then frowns at Jowan's mangled hands before kneeling down to repair them, "Did you know that Duncan was conscripted into the Wardens after being sentenced to death for thievery?"

Alistair shakes his head and studies his muck covered boots, "I can't say that I did. Duncan, he didn't really like to talk about his life before he joined the Grey Wardens."

"Most Wardens don't, from what I've gathered," Gabriel admits as he leans down to help Jowan to his feet, "I doubt we were the first to join the Greycloaks under tragic circumstances."

"Sers, I don't mean to interrupt, but I'd rather not tarry here," Jowan timidly interjects, still flexing his hands experimentally, "No matter what Lady Isolde has done, I cannot deny my part in all of this and must do whatever is in my power to set it right."

"Well, we've accumulated this many lunatics so far, what's one more? Welcome to the life of the Grey Wardens," Alistair snickers in way of agreement and the groups marches on.


	33. Chapter 32

**Yay, look at me, finally grinding out a new chapter! **

**Thank Draygonne61 for gently kicking my ass to do this.**

**Bioware owns all yada yada**

**And still not beta'd, so point out any glaring mistakes you might find.**

"You know sister, if there were any sign that we were desperate, it just walked up and knocked," Gabriel mutters to the apostate as they search the ransacked hall for survivors. Connor's demon friend had made a show of its strength by setting the castle's inhabitants on them and they were currently dealing with the aftermath.

Beside him Lynx laughs and earns herself a sharp glare from the youngest Warden. "Why are you laughing Lynx? None of this is the least bit funny."

"You're right, it's not. But do you realize that we've just spent the past hour cowering under a table because of a ten year old boy?" she giggles and drops another limp body on to the growing pile of corpses, "Mind you, that ten year old boy is probably going to kill us all by days end, but I can't help but laugh at the irony."

"We weren't cowering dea, we were observing the bambino and waiting for the most opportune time in which to reveal ourselves," Zevran's lyrical accent is soothing to her ears after all the screaming, "Wynne has concluded her inspection of Teagan and believes that he is now ready for questioning."

The lordling is fuming when the mage finally finds him sitting at the edge of the dias. "First you disfigure the Arlessa, now I hear that you've gone and conscripted that monster into your order? What kind of maniac are you?"

"Evidently the kind who will truly do anything in order to get my job done," Lynx sneers and draws herself up to her full height, making her eyes level with his own, "I do not seek your permission nor ask your forgiveness for what I do, you stupid shem. I'm here because your idiot sister-in-law's actions allowed a demon to slip through the Veil and wreak havoc. If not for her, we could have spoken with Arl Eamon and been long gone by now, so don't fucking blame me for having to stick around and fix your problems."

His features draw tight with unrestrained horror, "You're a mad woman!"

"Only once you get to know me," her smirk is bladed as she gives him a mocking bow, "Now where does this demon in a Connor suit hide when it's not terrorizing the populace?"

The bann reveals that the creature has been using Eamon's personal chambers as a sanctuary since the trouble began, then shamefully adds that no one is certain if the Arl even draws breath still.

When he exhausts his well of information, Lynx watches him slump father into himself and actually feels a twinge of regret at her next course of action.

"You are aware that there is a very real possibility that I will have to dispose of the child?"

His only answer is a curt nod and a semi silent sob. She gives his quivering shoulder an awkwrd pat, then turns to the others, "Alis, Gabe, I need you to stay here with Wynne and aid with the injured the best you can. I want you on your toes though, in case that thing decides to come back for an encore. Zevran, Spiorad, and I are going to scout around. Jowan, stay out of trouble or you'll spend the rest of your life as a maggoty turnip. We'll be back as soon as we can."

The mabari and the assassin pad after their leader as she meticulously follows the path set out by Teagan.

"This is no mere scouting expedition," the Antivan murmurs when they are finally away from errant ears.

"We have to neutralize the demon before the Veil completely destabilizes and rips itself apart," she informs him, pausing to rifle through a footlocker in search of keys and any other useful items, "The others would let their morals get in the way of what needs to be done and we can't afford that right now."

Zevran hits her with a sideways glance, "Contrary to popular belief la mia anima, I do not make a habit of killing bambinos. I do think I understand why you do this though."

"Once you've been possessed by a demon, you are more susceptible to them for the rest of your days," she explains after they stop to put down a cluster of animated skeletons, "He would stand almost no chance of surviving once he was sent to the tower."

"Why cara?"

She swipes at her ragged bangs, then crouches to pick a locked chest while he covers her, "When mages reach a certain age and skill level, they are put through a test called a Harrowing. During this test the mage is forced to fight a demon in the Fade while a Templar in the physical world stands with a sword over the mages throat. First sign of possession, the mages head rolls and it's game over."

He doesn't answer immediately, stewing over the newly revealed information as they raid more chests, loot more rooms, and destroy more undead. Along the way, they happen upon the drunken blacksmith's daughter and send her back the way they came before using her hidden closet to rest for a few minutes.

"You believe his life would be at its end even if he did somehow live through his Harrowing, do you not?" the other elf's tone is inquisitive, not judgemental, as Lynx dreaded it might be when he next spoke.

Spiorad, nearly double the size he was only a few months ago when his mistress began her new life, snorts and rests his head on the woman's knee. She strokes him affectionately for a long minute before finally nodding. "The Chantry does say that magic exists to serve man, but never says anything about making slaves of mage borns. What gives them the right to tell those children that they are damned by their magic instead of treating them as the gifts they are?"

"I have no answer for you dea," Zevran ruefully confesses as he finishes re-coating his blades then carefully sheathes them, "Though the motivations of those overlooking Chantry laws could clarify things a bit."

She raises an eyebrow at him, a silent request that he continue.

"People in positions of power want only one thing Lynx."

"More power," she sighs and forces her tired body to stand, "That vineyard you told me about sounds better and better with every passing day Zev."

"Perhaps I will find the opportunity to take you there some day," he banters as they re-emerge into the hall.

Her mocking smile proves that she does not believe a word of it, but her violet eyes betray her, showing how desperately she wants to immerse herself in the lie, "As long as I get to keep my dog, I'm all yours Crow."

"That part was inevitable since the day you took mercy on me and allowed me to join you on your quest," he chuckles but the apostate can feel genuine emotion behind his jesting, "No one can resist Zevran Arainai for long."


	34. Chapter 33

**If I owned anything Bioware, DA 2 wouldn't have been so terrible.**

"How could you kill Connor? Exactly how heartless are you?"

Various people snarl their own versions of the same questions while Lynx sits on the rug in front of the main hearth and attempts to scour the dead child's blood from her blades. No matter how many times she reiterates that she only did what had to be done, her words simply reinforce the fact that she truly is monstrous.

Her lips curl into a murderous smile as she works _I did try to warn them, didn't I? _

What made their accusations worthless-in her eyes- though was the fact that they so easily heaped the entirety of the blame on her when she confessed that she had been the one to do the deed and Zevran's hands were free of Connor's blood. They wanted her to be guilty, needed her to be as evil as they perceived the renegade mage to be...and she let them do it.

Eamon, groggy but awake a shot time later, had refused to even look at her after he'd ascertained that one of his saviors had also delivered his only child to the Maker's arms mere hours before. She could not and would not begrudge the elderly father's grief, as the boy's demise weighed on her heavily.

_Just wait until he finds out who shredded his bitchy wife's face though. I'll be lucky if I survive to see the end of the blight._

Then Zevran is beside her, whispering into one pointed ear. He tells her to use the grief and transform it into something she can use.

So she does.

She drags him away from the cluttered hall and into the room she'd been assigned, then drowns her senses in the Antivan. He gives her the harsh punishment she feels she deserves, covering her lithe body with welts, bites, shallow cuts, and blooming bruises as he takes her. His absolute dominance allows the reins holding her self control to slip free and she cries, wails, and rages as all the emotions she'd had caged break free.

When she surfaces much later and feels almost herself once more, snow is falling outside of her window. Her body deliciously aches in ways she didn't think possible as she shifts away from her dozing lover, wraps her form in a thick quilt, and shuffles over to the glass portal.

Lynx absently observes the pregnant flakes as they dance and drift downward until a memory scratches its way to the surface.

_Snow and blood. Her father calls out, orders her to run away as the sharp scent of smoke burned her nostrils. His calloused hands press the Rose's Thorn into her smaller grip, the blood that covers it smearing a crimson swatch across her smock._

_ At his word, she transforms into the silver fox-he'd said it was her mother's favorite form-only to lose the shape a short time later. With panic coursing through her veins, she is forced to scramble through the blizzard, the icy blasts burning her bare skin._

_ Later, she sneaks back, only to find her father and the other inhabitants of the farm mutilated __and hanging from posts like morbid scarecrows._

_ Days go by. Weeks. The appearance of her first rescuer. _

_ She thought him kind until he forces himself into her tiny body, making her bleed and cry for her pappae._

_ He died for what he did, but that didn't stop her belly from swelling afterwords._

_ The baby comes some time after she'd saved the Chaisnd leaders son, but the infant is too small to survive more than a few scant hours after leaving his mother's body._

_ The Chaisnd help her bury her child-Brock, after her father-though she cannot bear their sympathy and steadfastly refuses the invitation to stay when it is offered. She didn't want pity or a debt paid for saving the Chief's son, no, more than anything she__ wants to join her son and her parents._

_ Years of being unable to look upon a child because each one carries her son's face, making her wonder if he would have been that tall, if his black hair would have curled like that, would his steel blue eyes have lightened to her own oddly hued violet?_

_He would nearly be Alistair's age now._

The aroma of honey and clove, mingled with leather and a hint of steel reaches her just before a blonde head drops onto her bare shoulder and his arms wind around her waist, "What thoughts have carried you away from me for so long la mia anima? The bed grew cold in your absence."

She lets herself lean into his gentle embrace though her gaze never wavers from the wintry display outside, "I was thinking about my son..."


	35. Chapter 34

**You know who owns Dragon Age and it's not me.**

He holds her differently now, since learning of her child, on the dark chilled nights during the trek to Soldier's Peak when she can no longer maintain the apathetic shield she normally binds herself in. His attentions are subtle, but do not escape her notice. No matter how she berates herself for it, she finds herself not only eager for his attentions, but yearning for them.

The way his fingers trace the ink that has slowly taken over the left side of her body and how they linger a heartbeat or two longer when following the black lines swirling over her abdomen, along her hip, and on to her bare mound. It is almost as if he is trying to envision her with a belly swollen and heavy with child instead of flat and rippled with hardened muscles.

The dawn inevitably comes before each new day, and despite the ever increasing times that he throws caution to the wind and permits his own mask to give way when they are alone, he always slips just out of reach before the others wake and it's back to lecherous comments and infuriating pet names that spare his mouth from forming her name.

"The compound is just up the hill," Levi Dryden announces, shattering her quiet musings, "I can't wait to get out of this blasted cold."

"Something feels very wrong here," Wynne warns a while later as the crumbling fortress comes into view, "The Veil, it's...I cannot describe it."

"Reminds me of you precious tower," Morrigan haughtily agrees, though her voice lacks the venom usually present when she is obligated to converse with the senior enchanter, "But the damage here has gone on far longer."

"This place stinks of old death," Sten blandly comments and pushes to the front of the group.

The group trudges into the courtyard warily and as they reach the broken gates, seemingly on some silent trigger the snow and mist swirl around to form the incorporeal images of soldiers. They are shouting to one another as vaporous warriors battle all over the grounds while the comrades whirl about, waiting for an attack that never comes.

Spiorad and Ruby keen uneasily as the scene fades out, the touches of their master and mistress bringing little comfort.

"Maker's breath, what was that?" Alistair wheezes after the specters have fully dispersed and the snow begins to fall in a normal manner again.

"Memories trapped in time, forever doomed to replay a single moment," Wynne answers over Leliana's fervent prayers, "I suspect that we have not seen the last of these manifestations."

"Like we haven't seen enough dead things moving about to last ten lifetimes," Lynx lets out an annoyed snort and resumes the journey to the castle.

They soon reach the main entrance and the bulk of the companions stand back at a safe distance while Gabriel, Sten, and Alistair force the ornately carved doors doors apart for the first time in nearly two hundred years.

After that, the world becomes a continuous blur of ghosts, demons, and reanimated dead Wardens.

When they find what used to be Levi's grandmother, Alistair cuts the creature down before she can complete her attempt at bargaining with them. Then they come upon Avernus and his laboratory of perversions. Lynx and Gabriel manage to convince the big eared bastard to divulge the secrets and necessary materials needed to perform the Joining ritual before sealing the sundered Veil. After their task is complete, Lynx drives her daggers into the twisted man's neck while her brothers spear him with their swords.

That night, as Jowan recovers from his Joining and the others rest, Lynx and Zevran argue on the battlements.

"I will not put you through that!" the apostate's tone is shrill and grating with agitation, "You have no idea what it does to you, should you even survive it!"

The Antivan's arms languidly fold over his cuirass, "Were you not the one who said that you needed all the help you could muster for this war dea? Well, here I stand, a willing candidate."

"Aren't you even a little afraid that you will mostly likely die?" her lavender orbs sparkle with unshed tears.

"I am a weapon Lynx, first and foremost. The Crows made sure of that," he replies in a flat tone, "But I'd rather be wielded by Grey Wardens who are trying to save the world rather than shackled by bastardos who wish to see it in ruins."

His flagrant speech cuts a deep wound and internally she rages against the pain, "You're also a person, you pigheaded asshat, and people ought to be free to choose their own fuck ups."

"Then let us pretend for a moment that I am not bound to you by oath and blood," in a flash his body is pressing itself to hers, his lips teasing her flesh, "I choose to become a Grey Warden Aurora, mia amore, do not deny me this one chance to choose what master I shall serve."

"But Zev," she whimpers as he trails a line of biting kisses along her jaw, "I don't—dammit-I don't want to lose the only person who..."

He kisses her soundly then, panting, touches his head to hers, "You won't la mia anima, I swear. To the Black Gates, remember? We have not reached them yet, to my knowledge. What good would my oath be if I did not keep it?"

At their feet, Spiorad rumbles in agreement and the woman feels her resolve collapse, "Fine. But we have to hurry otherwise the concoction will sour."

Zevran follows her through the dusty corridors and into the kitchen where the brew had been prepared. As soon as the mug is in sight, he reaches for it, but his wrist is clasped before he can drink. "There are things you must know. Things that you never tell a recruit."

The assassin grimly nods and relinquishes his hold on the cup while she confesses every Warden secret that she's accrued. When she stills, he leaps forward and takes a gulp of the vile fluid before she can prevent it.

"Zevran!" she shrieks and lunges for him as he promptly falls to the stone floor.


	36. Chapter 35

**I wish I owned...**

"Sister, stop wearing a hole in the floor," Gabriel chides from his tattered chair, "The Crow is breathing, so you already know he will live."

"Like anyone would notice one more hole in this wreck," Lynx snipes, but abandons her frantic pacing and settles for stoking the fire dancing in the massive stone hearth, "It didn't take me this long to wake up."

"That's because you have the constitution of a dwarf," he smirks, though his eyes drift to Morrigan as she stomps through the chambers, "I have a feeling that she is less than pleased about Zevran joining our ranks."

The elven woman glances in the direction the other mage had thundered and shrugs an indifferent shoulder, "I'm not here to garner her approval and she is well aware of that, so it's not my fault if she's in a snit about it."

Her fellow Greycloak falls into silent contemplation, much to his sister's delight, but the repast is short lived as Alistair soon stumbles in, yawning and scratching his stomach through his plain tunic.

A quick scan of the rooms inhabitants tells him that he's missed something vital and he abruptly tries to smooth his unruly spikes as he draws closer, "Erm, did something happen? You two look like you sucked lemons for breakfast."

"Nothing too world changing. Well, except that our sister here went and put her assassin through the Joining while we were sleeping, then had a panic attack when he didn't wake up as quickly as she thought he should," the former nobleman chortles, earning himself a baleful glare after the mage sinks into the dusty couch cushions, "But even more interesting is the fact that I'm fairly sure that I spied a certain ginger haired bard sneaking out of your room last night brother."

Lynx is unable to contain a laugh when the younger man begins spluttering and reaches over to give him a congratulatory pat on the arm, "Our little Templar is finally growing up Gabe, whatever shall we do now?"

"Be happy that the raggazo will not die a virgin now, thanks to our songbird," a weak voice answers as the blonde elf slowly makes his way across the room and drops to the sofa beside her, "And possibly put her on the payroll to keep him entertained while the rest of our merry band finally has a chance to enjoy themselves without fear of destroying his innocence."

Forgetting herself for a moment in her exultation at seeing him alive and well, Lynx wraps her arm around him and leans her head closer to his, "If you scare me like that ever again, you blonde bastard, I'm going to shrink your manbits down to the size of peas for a fucking year."

"You wouldn't dare dea, you enjoy my attentions far too much to deny yourself that long," he flashes a mischievous grin, but his amber eyes glimmer with an understanding and relief that matches her own, "But in the spirit of self preservation, I shall endeavor to avoid doing anything so thoughtless in the future."

The pair falls silent, amber and lavender orbs locked, for so long that the others stammer quiet excuses and retreat. Lynx only becomes aware of their solitude when the back of the Antivan's hand caresses her cheek.

"Did you dream?" she eventually probes and the Crow's sharp intake of breath is answer enough, "They'll never go away, not completely, you just do your best to block them out. Sadly, they aren't truly dreams either, like I told you before. It's like we tap into the darkspawn consciousness when we sleep. Alistair once said that he was told it was worse for those who join the order during a Blight."

He slips his arms around her and draws the hedgemage to his chest, resting his chin on her head before sighing, "At least now I can understand why you flail and shout so often during the night. All I can say is that now you will not be forced to face them alone."

"Shouldn't you be resting now?" Lynx mumbles into his neck, then redirects when he huffs, "Yes, you get all of this phenomenal power to kill darkspawn, but you also get an itty bitty lifespan, paralyzing nightmares, obligations to save the world, and a number of other fun things packaged with it."

His head tilts and she can feel him slowly running his cheek over her hair, "None of that bothers me cara. You said yourself that we could survive another thirty years as a Grey Warden. As a Crow- even had I not failed in my attempt to kill you- I would have been fortunate indeed if I had managed to live another ten years. A true miracle if I made it fifteen. Had I somehow reached twenty years, I would have become a legend. Contrary to what you may believe, you have extended my life insurmountably by making me one of the order, not cut it short."

"Well, you only get thirty years if the archdemon, Loghain, or these treaties don't get us all killed first," she glowers without any real heat, then slips out of his embrace when the echoes of movement hit their sensitive ears.

"It seems the weather has taken a turn for the worst while we wasted three days clearing out demons," Leliana proclaims, shrugging off her frosty cloak and gloves as she saunters in, "Levi's family arrived safely, but informed us that the south end of the tunnel has been buried in a small avalanche. Luckily they had a veritable wagon train brimming with supplies, as they'd planned on wintering here whether we were staying or no."

Lynx takes a moment to process everything, then her head sags in defeat, "It's only the beginning of First Fall. We'll be stuck here for months if things are already getting that bad. Is it too much to hope that the darkspawn and Loghain take winter holidays?"

"This gives us a great opportunity Lynx," Alistair chatters, having arrived during the bard's explanation, "We could fix this place up, start building a stockpile, and make it a home for the Wardens again instead of letting it crumble to the ground like some forgotten relic."

"A home?" she whispers to herself while her brother leers at her with an eager grin. None of those traveling with her have had a place to call home for longer than any dared to admit. She shifts her gaze to her assassin and finds a tiny smile playing at the edges of his mouth.

_He wants this as badly as Alistair._

The room has been filled to the brim with her motley crew as she ruminated and is startled to see the vestiges of hope etched into each face when she looks around. She softly snickers when she notices the swamp witch sneaking glances at Gabriel.

_Grey Wardens or no, they all want this._

"We will stay the winter."


	37. Chapter 36

**I don't own anything...yet *evil laugh ***

Days quickly melt into weeks as everyone struggles to dredge the battered Keep out of its tumultuous past and firmly ensconce the compound in the present. By the time Alistair's birthday rolls around, fully half of the castle appears to have been inhabited for two years instead of two months.

Morrigan, Lynx, and Jowan-who has taken to shape shifting as a duck would to water-do the bulk of the game hunting, and their toils keep the smokehouse and larders stocked with meat, the tannery with furs, and the beds stuffed with all the feathers anyone could ask for.

It is also during this time that Leliana, Gabriel, and Zevran-much to Lynx's surprise- independently give up on pretenses and slowly transfer their belongings into the chambers of their lovers, leaving ample space for Levi's extended family to comfortably expand. The Drydens new proximity to the companions thrills Jowan to no end, as he has found a connection with Levi's niece, a shy and soft spoken girl by the name of Eliza. Her quiet acceptance and unshakable loyalty has served to rebuild his broken confidence every bit as much as his daily training sessions with the hedgemage.

Sten on the other hand, steadfastly remains fascinated by Levi's brother Mikhael since he began overseeing the blacksmith's forging of Starfang, the long sword of meteor metal that Lynx passed to Alistair on his birthday. The hulking qunari is often found at the human's forge, quizzing the master smith about arms and armor, when he is not making attempts to improve his own gears.

Wintermarch brings with it biting winds, artic temperatures and blinding snows, forcing the group to abandon the excavation of the tunnel-which had been subjected to multiple cave-ins and had the far end collapse under the weight of the ice—and content themselves with retreating far indoors in the face of midwinter's harshness.

After one night of particularly brutal dreams, Lynx finds herself sitting at the kitchen's preparation table beside Wynne and sipping tea.

"How are you and Zevran getting along?" the elder mage conversationally inquires sometime during their second cup.

Caught unawares by the candid question, it takes a minute for the younger woman to formulate a semi-polite response. "As well as can be expected, considering we chase one another out of bed because of the nightmares, have a blight to stop, and still need to collect the rest of the treaties before we're overrun. Why do you ask?"

The senior enchanter's sapphire orbs drift away from her gaze and settle on the small fire keeping the kettle warm, "I cannot imagine what life must be like for two Grey Wardens, paired as you are. It has to be so difficult to maintain a relationship, never knowing when the time may come that you are forced into a situation where you must choose between your duty and your heart."

_To the Gates of the Black City I would follow you _her lover's solemn vow resonates inside of her and Lynx shakes her head in denial, "It will not come to that, we won't let it."

"You brave, silly girl. Do you seriously believe that it will always be so simply because you will it?" Wynne's chastising words make her veins turn to ice, "Are you even certain that his convictions are as solid as your own? He is an assassin by vocation after all. Or have you considered that ending the relationship might be for the best, so that neither of your loyalties are divided? I do not say these things to hurt you Lynx, I merely wanted-"

The Warden's clay mug shatters as it slams into the wood, slicing her hand in the process, "If you value your tongue and your life, I highly recommend that you lock your jaw and get out of my sight before I show you exactly what I think of you and your little speech, you saggy assed meddling hag."

Wordlessly, the other woman rises from the bench and scurries out of the room, leaving Lynx to seethe.

Morning arrives and the apostate hasn't moved. A puddle of coagulated blood has pooled under her wounded limb, but the jagged cut has long since stopped weeping scarlet.

Then something captures her attention. Jowan and Wynne, practicing fire and lightning spells just outside the kitchen window. It is enough to make her threadbare control fizzle out.

Clad in only an oversized tunic, she darts out of the side door and barrels towards the other mage, gathering the wintry air around her as she goes.

"How dare you?" Lynx shrieks, the magical snowstorm rising like an icy hurricane around her, "You can't let anyon be happy, can you, you shriveled up harpy? You hunt down anyone who is less miserable than you and you destroy any sense of peace they have! Who the fuck do you think you are?"

Wynne's inferno barely has a chance to manifest before the ice storm collides with both it and the thundering storm Jowan had called to separate the two angry women. The trio of primal spells swirl and mutate before them, rendering their flaring tempers impotent at the sight.

"A perfect storm," Jowan murmurs, completely awestruck, "I thought it was only a theoretical possibility..."

"Maker's breath, what is that?" Alistair shouts over the din as he scrambles up, clad in naught but his trousers and hastily donned boots, "I've never seen anything like it."

"Fire, ice, and lightning, all melded into a single devastating spell," his sister informs him, too stunned to smother the reverence in her tone.

"It will certainly give the darkspawn a reason to pause, yes?" Zevran cheerfully comments as he grasps his lover around the waist and pulls her a more comfortable distance away, "More impressive than our back up plan of having Alistair don a dress and dance the Remigold for them at least. Speaking of Templars, shouldn't one be dispelling that thing?"

"Templar? Oh yeah, that's me. On it," the youngest Warden lilts and focuses on ridding the courtyard of the terrifying elemental display.

"What brought this on?" Gabriel inquires as he joins the growing crowd of onlookers.

Lynx's rage is born anew and she repeats the entire conversation between Wynne and herself while vibrating like a sapling in a windstorm. Her self restrained is so feeble though that Alistair has to suppress her magic twice during the telling. When she finally concludes, her eyes savagely flicker through the group before settling on her Antivan, "Be mindful, all of you. Who the hell knows who she will ambush next because she's feeling snippy."

Zevran and Leliana seem to understand the unspoken order as the mass of people begins to fracture and everyone returns to their duties.

_Any more meddling or attempts at manipulation are to be considered acts of hostility and handled accordingly._

Fortunately for Wynne, she was also able to discern the subtle message and behaves admirably all the way through the end of Guardian, when the final boulders and chunks of ice are cleared from the subterranean road's exit.

As if fate has decided to replay a piece of their shared past, Alistair emerges from a gathering of people to stand before the wild woman. "It's time."

For the second time since her new life began Lynx nods sagely and strokes Spiorad's head before getting to her feet. "I thought it might be."


	38. Chapter 37

**All copyrighted stuff belongs to Bioware, the rest of the weirdness is mine**

They had to return to Ostagar. The wounded deserter they'd encounter three scant days after leaving the Keep makes that all too clear. Unfortunately an attack by mercenaries hired to dispose of Leliana eradicate any chance of that until Marjolaine can be dealt with. That means sneaking into the belly of the beast itself. Denerim.

Of course things couldn't go smoothly, as they encounter a band of refugees needing aid along the way. Gabriel's quick mind is what gives them the idea to escort the fearful peasants to Denerim and hide amongst the throng to avoid detection by the city guard..

This series of events is how Lynx finds herself squashed into the noisy, filthy capitol of Ferelden. Instead of grumbling though, she opts to glare down at Morrigan and Jowan, who are safely tucked into their less conspicuous canine forms.

The day before, she'd had the misfortune of meeting Alistair's money grubbing sister Goldanna—who conveniently won't be a problem for him later on because she and Zevran had spent the night making the bitch disappear-then burned an entire afternoon away running errands for a Grey Warden sympathizer by the name of Sergeant Kylon in exchange for a nice bag of coins and a place to rest.

Today's task, Marjolaine and her band of embarrassingly ill trained guardians, had been settled in an efficient-if not brutal-manner. After leaving Gabriel, Alistair, and the grieving bard behind to rest, she, Zevran, and the three canines make the trek to the Pearl in hopes of gathering new information...and find a woman named Isabella instead. Lynx had to skip out on the end of that talk before the murdered the voluptuous pirate captain for being so friendly with her assassin.

Feelings of hurt, jealousy, and the desire to mark her territory confuse and irritate the elf blood as she escapes into the maze of alleys, the canines trailing after her.

On their way back to the inn, they suddenly find themselves staring down over a dozen Crows with a human rogue at the lead.

"Where is Zevran?" the new arrival demands, his hands lazily resting on the pommels of his weapons, after he introduces himself.

"Hmm, Zevran you say? I don't think I've ever heard the name," the hedge mage responds without batting an eye, "Is this Zevran your mabari or something?"

Talisen gives her a poisonous grin, "Or something. Do you know who I represent apostate?"

"Someone who has been hit with the ugly stick a few too many times?" she chuckles in spite of the alarmed looks her fellow mages are directing her way.

Oddly enough, the thug laughs with her, then lets out a woeful sigh, "I like your spirit ragazza feroce, it is truly a shame that I must kill you."

"It is a shame, I'll hate to be dead," Lynx quips, aware that the circle of assassins is tightening around them, "If Zevran chooses to go with you, I will not stop you. But if you try to take him by force, I will tear you apart."

Talisen nods respectfully, "I understand this mia cara, that is why you must die first. Now, please tell me where he is, so fewer of your companions have to die with you."

"I am here Talisen," the elf's honeyed accent rings through the square just as he saunters into view, "You should have stayed in Antiva, my old friend."

The other Crow looks him over, then his smile grows to ridiculous proportions, "It is time for you to come home, mi amore, where you belong. You have made a mistake and I forgive you. All you must do now is complete your contract, then we can make up whatever story we wish and things will be right as rain."

"I'm not as easy to kill as you think," Lynx counters, silently relieved that no one thought to prevent the canines from leaving. _Hurry up guys._ "How do you think someone like me managed to sway a Crow of Zevran's caliber to my cause in the first place?"

"Truly?" the man's eyes momentarily flit to the one in question, "Do Grey Wardens pay better then we Zevran, or are they simply better in bed?"

"Both," the apostate cackles for the enemies benefit, "But I prefer my bed warmers with slanted ears that I can get a nice grip on rather than your big floppy round ones-personal preference and all that- so I won't be offering you a job any time soon. So sorry."

"You're a mouthy little mageling, aren't you?" he inquires with noticeably less humor than earlier, "He always did enjoy that kind. I think Rinna would have agreed with that assessment, right Zevran?"

"Rinna is dead and gone Talisen," Zevran flatly responds, his ears slightly twitching at an echoing bark that each ally recognizes, "Though I think she will soon have your company to share."

The man's smile evaporates completely at those words and is replaced with a cruel grimace.

"Kill them. I want Zevr-"

He gets no chance to say more as his throat sprouts an arrow and familiar faces come pouring in, causing a melee to spontaneously erupt.

Being so evenly matched, the companions are left bone weary as they strip the Crows of anything useful and quit the dank square.

Lynx strives to talk to her lover as they slip into the old Grey Warden supply warehouse they'd found while seeking Marjolaine, but he stonewalls her at every turn and eventually disappears up on to the gabled roof, claiming a need to take watch. He still hasn't returned by the time Lynx surrenders to a much needed nap.

Day fades into night. Night melts into day. He is no longer on the roof when she brings him a plate of food. Two days and nights she searches to no avail. Near the end of the second night is when she flounders upon him as he reclines on the roof of a wharf side tannery.

Without a sound, she digs into her satchel and pulls out a pair of boots. He says nothing, but stares inquisitively as she drops them into his lap and takes a seat at his right.

His nostrils flare almost comically as the aroma of genuine Antivan leather wafts through the air and he gingerly picks each one up to examine them. Lynx pretends not to notice the gleeful smile on his face as he promptly chucks his well worn boots into the water and slowly eases his feet into the new footwear.

After about an hour, she retrieves a tobacco pipe from her bag, packs the bowl, then lights it. After she takes a long draw, she passes it to her morose lover. "Are you okay?"

"Not yet. Be patient with me this once dea and I shall not fail you," he murmurs before raising the pipe to his lips.

"I'll hold you to that."

**Translation**

**ragazza feroce- fierce girl**


	39. Chapter 38

**You know who owns Dragon Age**

"I'm finally free, inasmuch as one such as I can be," Zevran declares between mouthfuls of thick fish chowder, "The Crows will think that I died along with Talisen, so as long as I do nothing unwarranted to draw their attention. This is a dream I often had as a child."

Lynx-eyes firmly on the table- picks at the moth-eaten handkerchief she'd used to wipe her mouth as she ate, "What will you do now? I imagine that there is more than enough work here in Denerim for a former Crow to comfortably get by on."

"Am I not oath bound to you dea?" his features are pained as he pushes away his bowl and reaches across the table to take her hand, "Do you no longer desire my presence?"

His amber gaze burns into her until she peers up at him, "Of course I want you here, but I released you from that oath before you ever became a Greycloak. Your life is truly yours to do with as you wish."

"And what if my wish is to reaffirm that I am yours, without reservation?" she cannot miss the minor alteration to his original vow, but an object being pressed into her hand diverts her from her reply.

"What's this then?" she queries, lifting the circular ring of gold up to the light and spots a blood colored gemstone dangling from it.

"It is a memento-of a sort-from my first assassination. It is the only thing I have in my possession that has ever genuinely been my own. I wish you to have it cara, as a token of my eternal...gratitude," he gives her a shrug that is far more at ease than the glint in his eyes, "Wear it, sell it, the choice is up to you."

Clutching the bauble in her hands, she leans forward over the rickety table, "Tell me the story behind it."

So he does.

When his tale winds down to its bloody conclusion, his ankles are crossed and his hands are lazily clasped behind his head, appearing to all the world as if his entire life hadn't flipped on its ear in that last few days.

The hedge mage gently places the earring on the table and gazes into her assassins eyes, "I have a question I wish to ask, it is an important one-and I will only ever ask it this once-but feel free to tell me no. Do you wish to hear it?"

He weighs the serious inquest for a long minute, no doubt thinking of the possible ramifications, but eventually bobs his blonde head.

She squashes down the fear that is suddenly thrumming through her and scrapes together every ounce of courage buried deep inside, then takes a deep breath before laying a finger on the golden ring, "Zevran, are you trying to tell me that you love me?"

Instantly he is frozen into uncanny stillness, the little half smirk he'd been wearing until now fleeing like a frightened rabbit.

One minute passes.

Five minutes pass.

Ten more follow.

As do twenty.

"I think I have my answer," Lynx finally states in a deadened tone, then pushes the earring back to where his pouch rests on the table as she stands, "Keep it then, I can see it means a lot to you. Maybe one day you will find someone to give it to because they've become your world instead being payment for sharing your bed or saving your life."

There is still no reaction from him when she walks away,-which she is thankful for-because no response means that he does not hear the sob that rips out of her as she exits the eatery. Once outside, she violently clamps down on her emotions, then shifts into her fox form and bolts back to the warehouse.

Everyone is either packing or sleeping when she squeezes in through a broken window, therefore only Ruby and Spiorad notice the silvery beast as she noses the door to one of the unused wardrobes open and disappears inside.


	40. Chapter 39

**Insert disclaimer and sarcastic remark here **

Zevran returns the next morning as everyone finishes their preparations for the journey to Ostagar. His flamboyant attitude is a bit more subdued than usual, but still sporadically laughs and jests with his comrades. Anyone but Lynx.

Never with Lynx.

She is like a blank spot in his vision even as they leave Denerim behind and carefully pick their way through the mystical and deadly Brecillian Forest.

In response to this, her mood turns as black as ever when she is forced to travel in her two legged form in lieu of her four legged one. She explodes at the slightest provocation when asked for the source of her dourness, if the person is not lucky enough to be ignored altogether. Nowadays Spiorad is the only one brave enough to travel at her side for long.

It escapes no one's notice that the assassin has once again taken to sleeping in his own tent whereas their caustic leader never seems to sleep at all any more.

Morrigan tempts fate and implores her fellow apostate to aid in disposing of Flemeth in order to avoid being possessed by the elder witch and somehow manages to receive a grunt of acquiescence for her efforts.

After fighting the dragon woman, Lynx-in a rare show of mercy- quietly allows the battered party to rest for a night before returning to the others.

Jowan is not so lucky. Soon the man is justifiably terrified when Lynx wheedles in the time to continue his arcane warrior training, as the woman has apparently become what Alistair often used to accuse her of being.

Heartless.

She isolates herself more and more as they travel, devolving into the silently hostile hunter who thinks of little but surviving to accomplish a goal. Soon she says very little no matter who initiates the conversation, effectively re-taking her place as the outsider of the party. A few of her companions actually begin to miss the moody and blunt spoken hedge mage they once knew.

Every clash the group is in, Lynx always finds her way to the front line of the battle, her body and blades dripping a river of blood.

Ostagar exacerbates the problem.

Seeing King Cailan, the foolish boy king who dreamt of glory and fairy tale endings, strung up just as her father had been so many years before, breaks her completely.

The elf blood seems little more than a wild animal, the death screams of her foes resonating through the icy ruins, her own feral battle cries chilling the others more than the blizzard ever could.

It takes everyone abandoning their tasks to find her and it is a nightmare come to life when they do. Her wails of grief as she repeatedly rams her daggers into the corpse of an ogre only add to the horror of seeing her literally covered in blood.

Zevran startles the group when he is once again the first to move, throwing his weapons into the snow as he races towards the broken woman.

Spiorad, hovering as close to his mistress as he dares, pleads for aid with sharp whimpers and wide eyes as the Crow extends a trembling hand and gingerly caresses the once silvery locks that are now stained almost black with gore. Lynx flashes her teeth at the Antivan and rasps out a feral growl before increasing the ferocity of her attacks.

"Dea," he whispers and waits for a keening whine to acknowledge him before adding, "Lynx, la mia anima, mi amore, ask me your question again."

She frantically shakes her head, utters another screeching sob that echoes across the battlefield, then tries to scramble away from him. Desperate beyond belief, he lunges forward to grab her shoulders and forces the mage to look at him, "Aurora, ask me again, I beg you."

Eyes that are dark with pain, confusion, and loss finally raise to greet his own weeping gaze. He doesn't flinch nor make any attempt to wipe away the tears washing down his face. When she finally speaks, he has to strain over the howling wind to hear her.

"Were you trying to tell me that you loved me?" He has not heard her voice this fragile since encountering her father's spirit.

Nevertheless, Zevran blows out a relieved sigh at her willingness to speak and crushes her filthy body to his own, "Yes, I was. And yes, gods helps me, I still do."


	41. Chapter 40

**Me no own.**

"There has to be something I can do for her Zevran, I feel so helpless," Lynx slowly awakens to Alistair's squawking and immediately realizes that she is laying in a bed that feels so much like the one she had in Redcliffe, "She's my sister, for Maker's sake, I can't just stand around here with my finger up my nose!"

"You heard what Wynne said, voi impaziente bambino. She needs to rest and will wake when she is ready," the elf's soothing tone rings out so closely that she is compelled to open her grimy eyes, "If we try to rush this, more damage may be done. Do you wish this on her?"

Her assassin is standing in the doorway, his sculpted back to her and clad in nothing but a pair of loose cotton pants that hang obscenely low on his hips, as he bars the Templar from entering.

"Never!" the human immediately protests, then his shoulders droop with defeat, "I just...you're not the only one who cares about Lynx and wants her to get better. She might be nuttier than a fruitcake on First Day, but she still means a lot to everyone."

"Then, ti prego, let her rest Alistair. She will return to us when her mind and body are healed," Zevran pleads.

When the human surrenders and leaves, it takes all of her self restraint not to pounce on the Antivan after he closes the door and swivels on a bare heel to face her.

Quickly she clamps her eyes shut and relaxes her features, but she knows that she has been caught. Honey and cloves float over her as the elf gently lowers himself onto the bed and pulls her to his chest. "I know that you are awake mi amore. You might be getting quite good at being sly, but you are not quite as stealthy as me yet."

"Dammit," she pouts and snuggles closer to her lover before becoming serious, "I can't remember what happened after we found Cailan. Was it bad?"

His fingers ghost up her cheek, then tucks a stray lock of silver behind a pointy ear, "Wynne, Morrigan, and Jowan all came to the conclusion that seeing the young monarch in such a manner after all of the turmoil-and our private issues-your mind tried to protect itself from further trauma and retreated into itself."

She gapes at him, wide eyed, for a moment, then waves a hand at the accommodations surrounding them, "Evidently I have been out of commission for more than a few hours, emma nan'mi. How long has it been?"

He nods an affirmation and lightly kisses the sharp tip of her nose, "One week you spent totally unresponsive, though your pulse-I will gladly admit-would flutter like a butterflies wings when it was my turn to watch over you."

"You admitted that you love me," she breathes, half afraid and half hopeful that he will deny it, "Or did I dream that and should return to researching the perfect curse to use on you?"

"That will not be necessary cara, for my declaration was no figment of your overactive imagination," he chuckles, causing her head to bounce in time with his chests contractions, "Would it be a comfort to you if I said it again?"

_Yes! No! Yes! _ "Only if it would bring you some level of comfort as well," she finally answers, "It was wrong of me to ask that question after I promised that I never would expect you to say those words."

"I...love you Aurora," he murmurs, his voice husky and almost bashful, "With all that I am. So you had better get used to it."

"I'll do my best," she softly snickers, for once being thrilled to have her own words used against her. She gives him a tender kiss and resumes her place on his chest, "So why was Alistair having a conniption fit?"

Zevran glances at the door before answering, "Our little Templar is presently out of sorts because it seems that Eamon wishes to make him king, of all things."

"He what?" Lynx yelps, causing Spiorad to sleepily crawl to his feet and growl.

Her lover puts his arm back around her and wordlessly convinces her to recline against him once more, "Mi amore, please."

"Please tell me that your joking Zevran," she huffs, her mind churning out dozens of disastrous possibilites, "Alistair is my brother and all, but he couldn't lead a fish to water if he were standing in a lake let alone bring peace to a war torn kingdom."

"As much as I agree with that sentiment dea, I am not the one who believes that the Chantry boy is the best candidate to usurp the throne from Loghain's clutches," he pauses to pat the blocky head of the mabari who is now inching his way onto the mattress, "And much to our brother's dismay, you would not be his best chance at talking the esteemed arl out of his current plan of action because of past events."

She briefly wonders if the Arlessa's face has had a chance to heal yet, then reminds herself that she is supposed to feel penitent over that little indiscretion. Unwillingly, her thoughts drift to Connor.

_Will it hurt Ser Warden?_

She thrusts the memory away and sits up, "Eamon's dastardly schemes can wait. We need to be back on the road as soon as our provisions are replenished. I need you to go inform our brothers to get it back in their pants and start making preparations to leave at sunrise tomorrow."

"Is that an order from my illustrious and ravishing Commander?" he taunts, his expression thoroughly amused.

"Do you want the arl to have Alistair or Gabriel conned into becoming king? Because that is what will happen if we don't get the fuck out of here," she relents a bit and gives him a lingering kiss, "I don't care how you interpret my orders Crow, as long as you get the job done. Now move your ass before I stop caring about saving this screwed up world and ride you till you drop."

"Promises, promises," he smiles, but follows her instruction after donning a tunic and his boots.

After her assassin saunters off to dole out orders, Lynx carefully rises from the bed and dresses. It is only when she is tugging on her cuirass that one of her fingers catch on a new necklace that is now accompanying her mother's pendant and Warden's Oath.

Draped from a fine gold chain that dips down between her breasts is the familiar gold hoop, sporting its single ruby.

_Son of a bitch _she quietly chuckles and gingerly slides her fingers over the bauble _The damn Crow finally got one over on me._

A single rap on the door is all the warning she has to compose herself before Gabriel and Alistair come stomping into her chambers. The former has enough decency not to stare at the sight before him, but the latter clearly needs to learn better manners.

This thought is only reinforced when Alistair shouts, "He-Zevran-that deceitful little shit! He didn't tell me that you were awake! He just said that I needed to get to your room as fast as I could! I thought something was wrong!"

"Nope, just recovering from one of those psychotic breaks I have instead of going on a holiday," she deadpans, then scoops up her bauldrics from the footlocker and slips them over her shoulders, "I want to have this place far behind us by this time tomorrow."

The relief that blooms from her brothers is almost palpable and, while Alistair does a fist pump, Gabriel betrays his elation with a simple smile, "Not that I'm disagreeing with your decision, but why are we in such a rush?"

Lynx blows her bangs out of her eyes for a third time and makes a mental note to take Leliana's scissors to them again soon, "Mostly because the thought of Eamon trying to making either of you dunderheads king scares me more than the archdemon and I want to get you as much distance between you and he as I can before he has a chance to brainwash you into thinking that he'd be the perfect candidate to put in charge while you save the world. Besides, there is another stop I have to make on our way to meet with the dwarves. I might be able to scrounge up a few more bodies to throw in front of the archdemon."

Alistair raises one pale eyebrow at his sisters colorful choice of words, "Oh, and who else in Ferelden is crazy enough to help us?"

Her smile is brimming with malicious glee, "We're going to see the Chasind little brother."

**Translation**

**emma nan'mi- my vengeful/avenging blade**

**voi impaziente bambino-you impatient child**

**Ti prego-please/I beg you**


	42. Chapter 41

**As much as I hate to admit it, Bioware owns all.**

**Oh, and the language that looks like gibberish? It's Irish Gaelic**

Although Lynx has claimed in the past to have been aided by members of the Chaisnd clans a few times in her life, it becomes glaringly obvious that she was not forthcoming with the entire story on the night the group is awakened by a party of Chaisnd warriors moving around their encampment, a small boy standing at the center of the throng.

Alistair, who is on midwatch, draws Starfang to attack the interlopers, but hesitates when the warriors unexpectedly flare their cloaks out and seat themselves in a circle around the child, their weapons resting peacefully on their laps. Not a minute later, Spiorad comes barreling out of Lynx and Zevran's shared tent and starts bouncing ecstatic circles around the painted boy, who greets the canine just as energetically.

Others charge out of their shelters, prepared for battle, but skid to a halt at the strange scene before them. Lynx weaves her way to the front and allows the mana to fade from her hands.

"Lower your weapons guys."

"What are they doing? Why are they just sitting there?" Leliana probes, her sharp eyes never straying from their new arrivals.

"They are allowing us to see them and giving us time to decide if they are some kind of Fade spirits here to trick us or not," the apostate explains, putting a hand on Sten's arm and willing him into a less aggressive stance, "You would be dead before you struck your first blow. That child is a prince among his people and has come bearing a message."

"How do you know they do not intend to attack once our guard is down?" the giant challenges.

"Because we are still alive," she calmly replies, then pads towards the boy, "Beannachtai Wolfe macKieran."

The dark haired child reaches up and slowly twirls a lock of Lynx's snowy hair around his fingers, then lunges at the woman, giving her a fierce hug once his arms are around her. "Aintín Lynx, tá mé ar deireadh fuair tú! Máthair dúirt is gá duit a dhuine éigin chun tú a threorú sa bhaile, agus mar sin tá mé anseo!"

"Déanta agat go maith, amháin beag," the hedge mage grins, then presses a kiss to the boys forehead, "Ach nach bhfuil mo chairde labhairt na teanga de na daoine. Cén chaoi a bhfuil dotheanga trádála?"

"I speak it well enougth," Wolfe lilts in the common tongue, "But it feels so heavy in my mouth."

"You will get used to it, after a time," she musses his hair then rises out of her crouch, "This is Wolfe, son of Chief Kieran, and he will be escorting us to the Chasind camp."

"So you know this boy?" Gabriel asks, his eyes shooting uneasy glances at the ring of painted and tattooed barbarians still sitting around Wolfe and his own elf blooded sister.

Lynx snorts in derision, "Of course I know him, I helped his mother birth him. He and his guardians will be spending the night with us. We'll be setting out at first light."

"Why first light?" Alistair prods, then gawks when Wolfe nudges the woman to the ground where one of the warriors has placed a brightly colored blanket, removes several black feathers from his hair, and begins winding them into her long tresses without thought spared for their confused audience.

She shrugs at her comrades baffled expressions, but is careful not to interrupt the boy with her movements, "Mainly because this one will be too excited to get home and brag about his first mission out into the land of barbarians to let us sleep any longer than that."

"They think we are the barbarians? We're not the ones running around half naked and painted with mud," he mutters in retaliation, but abandons the jibe when his fellow Warden's eyes flare with irritation, "Okay fine, we leave in the morning."

"Ní hé an fear an-chliste, Aintín," Wolfe muses aloud after the almost Templar is led back to his tent by Leliana.

She reaches up and strokes her new adornments once she is sure that her brother will not cause any more trouble, "B'fhéidir nach bhfuil, ach níl amhras ar bith ar a ndílseacht."

Zevran can see the deep connection between his mage and the Chasind princeling and takes full advantage of the situation, "So how do you know our beautiful leader highness? Other than her attendance at your introduction to the world."

The child takes a minute to unravel the question, then flashes the Antivan a brilliant smile that bursts with pride, "She is my Auntie Lynx, revered sister of my mother and father, even if she often chooses to walk her path alone instead of with her people. Father says that she is trying to find her true self and we must allow her to do so."

"What do you think about that?" the Antivan asks, thinly concealing his amusement at seeing his lover being bossed about by a mere child.

"I think Aunt Lynx knows who she is, but runs from it because accepting herself would also mean accepting that there are those who cherish her," the Chaisnd boy proclaims, then his cheeks flush with embarrassment, "It is difficult to explain in the trade tongue as I am still learning to speak it."

"Not to worry highness, I believe I understand what you are trying to convey," he quickly assuages the child, but does not fail to notice how several of the guards smirk at the use of the boy's royal title, "But one must remember that we are all simply trying to find our way through this mad world and sometimes the path we find ourselves on is more difficult that we'd expected."

"And she is sitting right here, in case it's slipped your mind," Lynx huffs petulantly, still doing a fair impersonation of a statue while her nephew continues to weave feathers, beads, and various colored strings into her hair.

"Forgive me dea, I did not intend to offend you," Zevran purrs as he crosses through the ring of protectors, then takes a hand and presses his lips to it, "My only desire is to learn more about my mysterious commander."

She cannot help but laugh at her lover's antics, "You must be one of the bravest-or most stupid-men I have ever met. To knowingly pass through Wolfe's guards for a romantic overture..."

"Don't worry about them Aunt, my protectors understand that the barbarians do not know our ways," the boys chirps, then gives her head a pat to indicate his work is complete, "Besides, Shale and Shiva are keeping an eye out for anything nefarious."

"Who is Shale little one?" her voice is surprisingly soft as he folds himself onto the blanket at her side and rests his head on her leg, "One of the new warriors?"

Wolfe shrugs his broadening shoulders, "A living statue that mother acquired a few winters back from Honleath. It is a very good protector, but frightened of birds. The story is not mine to tell though, so you'll have to ask mother if you want to hear it."

The Warden starts to ask another question, but her nephew's eyes have already begun to droop with fatigue, so she settles instead for massaging his back as if he were a mabari pup. Zevran, ever her protector, eases himself to the ground behind her and pulls her back to his chest. "Rest now dea, I will watch over you and your young one this night," he swears before placing a tender kiss under her ear.

Behind the elf, Spiorad woofs in agreement and soon Lynx is drifting into the Fade.

**Translation**

**Beannachtai Wolfe macKieran-greetings Wolfe, son of Kieran**

**Aintín Lynx, tá mé ar deireadh fuair tú! Máthair dúirt is gá duit a dhuine éigin chun tú a threorú sa bhaile, agus mar sin tá mé anseo—Aunt Lynx, I have finally found you! Mother said you need someone to guide you home, so I'm here! **

**Déanta agat go maith, amháin beag- You have done well little one**

**Ach nach bhfuil mo chairde labhairt na teanga de na daoine. Cén chaoi a bhfuil dotheanga trádála?-But my friends do not speak the language of the people. How is your trading tongue? **

**Ní hé an fear an-chliste, Aintín-That man is not very smart, Aunt**

**B'fhéidir nach bhfuil, ach níl amhras ar bith ar a ndílseacht-Perhaps not, but there is no doubting his loyalty **


	43. Chapter 42

**I still own nothing, so don't bother suing...**

Wolfe, along with his entourage, shows the group a secret route through the mountains that shaves days off of their original plan. Along the way they are joined by Shale-a massive construct who seems to enjoy making people uncomfortable as much as Zevran-and Shiva, a relatively small qunari mage with elegantly curved horns who has mastered the healing and protection arts.

_Hilarious that he should be a healer when his name invokes a spirit of destruction_ Lynx muses to herself as Sten and the other giant continuously give one another wary looks.

The Chasind encampment itself reminds many of the Dalish camps as it comes into sight. Wagons and the occasional aravel dot the natural woodland clearing while tents and shelters of all shapes and sizes have been erected in little clusters.

There is an audible gasp from Leliana when they pass a group of children being tutored on how to play their lutes by a young woman close to the bard's own age.

"There you are, you scrawny little bitch. I was wondering if you had the stones to come back after last time," a woman growls from the back of the party.

Lynx swings around to glare at the woman, taking in her towering height, long blue black hair, piercing silvery blue eyes, and horrific scars that cover her face, arms, and torso. "You should have known better than to cross me Aja, you had to have realized that I was eventually going to dole out retribution for what you did to me."

"Aww, da widdle elfie couldn't take fucking a joke? Maybe you shouldn't be such a big one then!" Aja roars and draws two metal hafted axes from their slings on her back, "This shit is going to end once and for all."

The apostate hurriedly waves down her companions, who have began unsheathing their own weapons, "This is a personal matter guys, just go sit over there while I teach this harpy another lesson."

She physically has to push them out of the way while they spout their contention, but finally are out of the line of fire. And not a moment too soon.

In a flash, the mage's daggers are met by axes. Lynx channels a lightning spell through her blades, though it appears to barely slow the massive woman.

"You'll have to do better than that," Aja laughs, then executes a backward leg sweep and drops the smaller woman to the mossy ground, "Hah, I win again whitey."

Everyone jolts in confusion when their leader raucously laughs, then is pulled to her feet and hugged by the warrior. "Of course you won Ajie, there is no way Kieran would let me get away with kicking the ass of his prized chieftainess."

"Mother, you hurt Auntie," Wolfe trumpets after scrambling to inspect a shallow cut on the mage's hand, "Don't break her already, we just got her back."

"She'll be fine boy," Aja chortles, then turns to bow at the rest, "Greetings flatfoots, I am Aja, Chieftainess of this tribe. I see that you've managed to keep my little sister from getting herself killed, again, you have my thanks for that."

"Die one fucking time and no one lets you forget it," Lynx grumbles and gestures towards her comrades, "Guys, meet Aja, champion of the Chasind clans, legendary berserker, queen of the People, and the biggest pain in the ass I've ever met outside you lot."

Introductions follow as the Chainsd woman navigates them through the temporary village and brings them before a dark haired man who rivals Sten in sheer size and bulk. His intimidation factor is slightly tempered though since he is currently instructing a tattooed young man on how to play a reed flute properly.

"Look what I found," Aja announces with a grandiose wave.

The man rises to his feet with a dancer's grace and his arms practically swallow the hedge mage as he hugs her, "It is so good to see you home again little sister, " his voice is even gentler than Leliana's, "We have missed you dearly."

"Kieran," she sighs, unaware of the recognition flickering in Zevran's eyes.

The pair hold one another in silence just long enough for the other members of the group to begin shifting their focus out towards the bustling village, or to speak with Aja in an attempt to give the duo a semblance of privacy. They also take the time to inform the warrior queen of why they have come seeking an audience.

"Lynx, why didn't you come home when all of this began?" Kieran chides in the Chasind tongue as to not be overheard by her companions, "We could have been helping you from the start. You should not have had to face this alone, you stubborn girl."

She shakes her head against his shoulder, "I couldn't have called for aid, even if I'd been willing to drag you into this. I have made some very powerful enemies in the short time I've been a Grey Warden and you already know how most of those idiots view the People."

"You've joined the lost ones?" he pushes her back far enough to level his hazel eyes with hers, "Why would you do this? I know you sister, you would not do this on a whim."

"One of their leaders saved my life after the gang of mages I was with were ambushed by Templars and I killed one of the bastards," she admits with a heavy breath, "And joining him in his endeavor was the payment he asked in return. I didn't immediately recognize what he meant, when he said that he was a Warden, but I was more than aware by the time we set foot in Ostagar."

Everyone falls quiet as Lynx converts back into the common language and recounts the events leading up to the great battle, then elaborates on what she and her compatriots have been striving to accomplish ever since.

It is only when the elf blood shifts and the Antivan pulls her to him, then uses his own body to shield her from prying eyes while she composes herself that her friends finally begin to truly understand the terrible pressure that she has been under. In a single moment, the true culprit behind her sporatic breakdowns becomes frighteningly clear.

When she has calmed, though the occasional jagged breath yet betraying her inner turmoil, Zevran gently maintains his hold on her as she swivels around to face the others.

After an inquisitive look at the lovers, the Chief moves to speak. "Our people will join this cause and end the nightmare that has befall this land. I will not stand idle while my sister and her brave companions struggle to save everyone on Thedas. Our blades and our lives are at your disposal Grey Wardens."

It is Alistair who comes forward and offers a deep bow to the Chasind king, "We would be honored to have you stand with us your Majesty."


	44. Chapter 43

**You know who owns.**

"That elf is unusually protective of you," Kieran comments as he and the hedge mage watch the clan and her companions eat, dance, and relax around the scattered bonfires, "One wonders why he would be more mindful of your particular welfare over the others."

Lynx glances over at the assassin, who is having a merry time dancing with a little girl and her ragdoll, and returns the smile he beams her way, "We are bonded Kieran. It is a new development but he has given me a token. He is also oathbound to me, on top of being a fellow Grey Warden."

The large man hands his drinking horn to a passing reveler and lurches to his feet, his mirthful expression turning grim, "We will return in one week sister, should he survive my test."

"Kieran, if anything happens to him.." she warns.

"Then I will be certain that he was not worthy of being your mate...and so will you," he fires back over his broad shoulder as he marches towards her lover and his tiny dance partner.

As much as she wishes to interfere, Lynx stays where she is as the chief and her assassin briefly trade words, then leave the halo of firelight together.

"Is everything alright?" Gabriel comes over and asks as he situates himself on the log she is resting against, "I just saw Zevran and the chieftain walk off together."

Her hand creeps up the front of her tunic and grasps the ring Zevran had given her, "Kieran has taken him out to perform an ages old ritual. They will be back in about a week's time. Less if Zev dies."

"What in the Black city are they going to be doing?" her Warden brother hisses, eyes watchful of the people all around them, "And how can you sit there so calmly, knowing that your lover might be dead by dawn?"

"Because this is the only way the Chasind tribes will tolerate him staying in my tent, being my lover, or be anything more serious than someone I am on friendly terms with. It is made more complicated by the fact that Zevran is also oathbound and a Grey Warden. He is in for a rough time, as Kieran is extremely protective of those he views as kin."

Gabriel sits quietly for a long moment, then laughs and nudges her shoulder, "So this is basically Kieran and his friends getting even with the boy you like for stealing your virtue or something? Don't worry sister, I'm almost positive that they are just going to give him a hard time and go down the usual list of threats of what will happen if a man doesn't treat his lady well."

As if on cue, two more Chaisnd men come to gather Gabriel, Alistair, and Jowan, leaving Lynx alone by the fire while everyone else continues enjoying themselves in blissful ignorance.

During the course of the evening, a little girl with colorless hair and pink stained blue eyes worms her way onto the lone Wardens lap and promptly falls asleep with one dainty hand tangled in the woman's snowy hair.

Leliana wanders over not long after, her cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling, "Who is this petite darling Lynx? She's adorable!"

After taking a few seconds to adjust the child so that she lays more easily against her, Lynx rests her chin on the drowsing girls head, "This is Wolfe's little sister, Rainne. She is called the Jewel an Phobail, Jewel of the People, because she is also the most powerful Seer the Chaisnd have had in almost four hundred years."

"A seer," the Orlesian drawls, her mind fighting with the mead she's imbibed, "You mean she has visions like I do?"

Lynx shrugs her unencumbered shoulder, "Something like that. She can see the paths most people walk and tell them where they are most likely heading. There are those she cannot divine though. People such as myself."

"Mages?" the question is innocent enough, but causes a distant ache to thrum inside of the hedge mage.

_Always with the mages. You can take the woman out of the Chantry, but you can't take the Chantry out of the woman, I guess._

"Grey Wardens," she corrects with a sad smile, "Those that taint themselves to combat the scourge the archdemons lead are called the Lost by the Chaisnd people because Seers cannot see their future. The Lost are thought to give up their souls and future incarnations in order to battle against the darkness for all time. We are honored-and pitied-for our sacrifice."

The other woman's sapphire orbs darken as the information sinks in, "They think that you have lost your soul? So this party, it is actually a funeral, is it not?"

"In a sense," she acquiesces with a touch of hesitation, "But it is also a farewell celebration for their warriors, since when Kieran returns from his little quest, they will officially be going to war. It will be like this all week, the party I mean. Many children will be born as a result of this turn of events."

"I can't believe how serene you look and sound when compared to the brusque leader I've known all these months," the bard giggles and quickly catches herself from falling over before adding, "It's almost like you are a real person here, seeing you so at ease. It's almost, dare I say? Domesticated. No, that's not the right word. Peaceful. Yes, you look peaceful."

"Don't worry songbird, I'll be back to my usual charming self by morning," she winks.

The redhead grins over at her, "You're drunk, aren't you Lynx? That's why I haven't been hit with a spell yet."

"Never. Magic and alcohol do not mix well for me. You have merely had enough to make you think that I'm acting like less of a bitch," the Warden counters, the warm body draped over her own sapping her strength and making her feel tired, "I'd have to say that if either of us has overindulged, it would be you."

"Perhaps I have, "Leliana concurs with a look down at her mug, then takes a calculated risk when she lays her head on the mages shoulder, "I miss Ali already. The nights are going to be absolutely frigid without him. I mean Schmooples is warm, but he always makes a racket when I put my cold feet on him. Alistair just snuggles closer when I need the extra heat."

Lynx lifts an eyebrow at the bard's bold move, but allows the human to stay where she is, "So does that mean you've finally roused more than his sword?"

Both snicker at memories of their time at Soldier's Peak, then Leliana nods, "Just before Wolfe and his friends came crashing into camp that night, he told me that he loved me and wanted us to wed someday."

"Congratulations Leli," she offers a genuine smile as she uses the Templar's pet name for his lover, "But what will you do if he decides that he wants the throne?"

Leliana's cheeks flush a new shade of red and she covers her face with a pale hand, "There are worse things in life than becoming a king's mistress, my friend. I would be happy just to be near him always."

"You are such a sap. Why settle for anything less than your own crown? You were raised as a daughter to that Lady Cecile, were you not?" the older woman peers down at her companion, "You could be the long forgotten noblewoman who took up arms and left Orlais for Ferelden to help fight back the blight that threatens all of Thedas. Think of the tales that would be told and the songs sung about that romantic story."

Suddenly the bard is hugging her head, "You're right! Thank you so much Lynx! I don't know what I'd do without you. I..."

The woman abruptly slumps forward as her words trail off, then lets out a low snore before the elf blood can ask what just transpired.

"Fucking fabulous, "Lynx grumbles under her breath and aims a rueful glare at the two sleeping females piled on her, "I'm stuck and both of your asses snore like Sten."


	45. Chapter 44

**Nope, I don't own. **

"Please tell me you're not serious Aja," Lynx groans and wipes the perspiration from her face as she scans the huts interior, "Isn't his token enough to prove his loyalty to me?"

The other woman's visage is unamused, "You are twice bound to the elf already, what is one more bond after that?"

"I don't know little sister, maybe because you've decided to go and start planning a wedding that I'm not sure either of us want," the mage snarls, spooking the young women who are currently poking and prodding her with fabric and bits of lace, "I'm not certain that Zevran even understands that being thrice bound is kind of a permanent deal among the Chaisnd."

"You know as well as I do that Kieran is explaining everything to him Lynx, so don't feed me that bronto shit instead of admitting what is really bothering you," the dark haired woman challenges, her pale eyes flaring.

The hedge mage glowers at her sister, "I have told you a hundred times, you just aren't listening to me, like always. I have a job to do Aja, and precious time is being wasted on all this frivolity. People are fighting and dying while you piss around with making me a gown and Kieran does his damnedest to kill Zevran if the elf refuses to be scared off."

Aja shoos off the other women, then sits down beside the distraught apostate, "Do you truly believe that your Zevran might leave or be killed while in my husband's care?"

"Yes I do, and it scares the shit out of me," she replies without looking up, "If he gets tired of my brothers shit and leaves, he might go on to Orzammar and wait for us there...unless he finally remembers that I freed him from his vows and surmises that getting as far away from Ferelden, the blight and...me, might be in his best interest after all. Gods, this is why you don't get attached to people."

At her side, the Chasind queen pales alarmingly, "Holy shit Lynx, you really do love him, don't you?"

_ Were you trying to tell me that you loved me?_

_ Yes, I was. And yes, gods helps me, I still do. _

With a silent nod, she admits the depth of her bond with her Antivan. "And he loves me as well. Words have been spoken."

Aja takes her hand and gives it a comforting squeeze, "Is it as hard for him to confess these things? If he is anything like you, I suspect that it is."

"It is. Argh, I wish I'd stopped Kieran when I figured out what he was planning," she falls back across the fur covered bed, "I was hoping that by keeping my mouth shut and letting them do this, it would help both sides trust one another a little more, but now all I want to do is strangle my brothers and move on to the bullshit that no doubt awaits us in Orzammar. And I want to get it done before I remember that I'm really a coward at heart and make a run for it."

Aja's sharp eyes take in her sister's flustered expression, "This will help the men bond, I promise. And when they return, you will be able to continue your quest, this time assured in the knowledge that the hopes, prayers, trust, and love of your people go with you."

Three days do end up passing relatively fast, because if her traveling companions are not vying for her attention, Lynx's Chaisnd kin are. At her behest-and not so subtle threats of violence-all talk of her possible nuptials cease as well. When she does happen to steal a moment to herself, she is set upon by her niece or nephews who always seem to find a crisis only she can overcome.

Regardless of their efforts though, the woman is dangerously close to panicking and instigating a search for her wayward lover and brothers. Not even meeting a young child who displays a shining aptitude for both music and magic can pull her far back from the brink.

By the fourth morning, Lynx is unconsolable, and sets to packing her belongings. Her companions-unable to dissuade their leader-seek out Aja and make the mistake of leaving the elf blood to her own devices for a minute.

The lone Warden takes the opportunity and slips away from the village. Smart enough to have changed forms before leaving, she and her mabari race through the thawing forest and search for any clues that would enlighten them to the mens whereabouts.

Hour after hour they investigate, with Lynx growing more irate with each dead end.

It is late in the afternoon when Spiorad breaks the silence with a whimper, then lays down and refuses to budge from his impromptu bed of moss and leaves. His mistress thoroughly examines him for any hidden wounds, and has to growl in frustration when the only hurt she finds is fatigue.

"Blast and damnation!" she yelps, scaring a flock of birds into flight, and drops to the forest floor with an angry sob.

"Aurora, why in the world have you wandered so far from safety?" an accented voice pleads after a long stretch of time, its familiarity making her tears fall faster.

"I was looking for you," she confesses and lifts her head from her knees to meet his amber gaze, "I was...afraid. That I'd lost you. That you'd died. That you'd come to your senses and left me behind like we both know you should."

Calloused hands gather her face in them as Zevran kneels before her, "Dea, when will you learn that I will never leave your side willingly?"

She leans into his gentle touch, "The day you can accept that you are more than the monstrous whoreson you see yourself as."

"It seems that we both have some things to work on then," he readily admits, then reaches behind him and plucks something from the ground before placing the item across her legs, "This is the reason for my delay cara."

Lynx drops her focus and gasps at the intricately woven ironwood and silverite staff. One end holds a ball of polished amethyst that rivals one of Alistair's fists in size, the opposite side is capped with a wicked sharp blade the size of her daggers.

"I've sworn to protect you Aurora, but I am not such an idiota that I am unaware there may come a time when it takes a moment for me to catch up," the elf declares, his hands hovering over hers as they trail over the weapon, "This is gift for those rare times when I cannot instantly be at your side to protect you."

She strives to tear her gaze away from the magnificent bladed staff and eventually succeeds, "I love it, how could I not? But how does this have any connection with my brother and sister practically forcing us to marry?"

"Ah, that," he chuckles, lifts her into his own lap, then gives her a thorough kiss before continuing, "Kieran and I have come to an understanding mi amore. We have agreed that, for the time being, gathering the army and defeating the archdemon should be everyone's main priority. The rest can wait until after the victory party."

The apostate's head drops to her lovers shoulder and she pauses to inhale the decadent scent he always seems to exude. After sating her need to immerse herself in his essence-and burying her face in his exposed neck-she sighs, "And you conveniently neglected to inform my brother that there may not be an after party if we fuck this up, I'm betting."

He presses a kiss to the tip of her ear, "I didn't have a chance to. Our Warden brothers told him nearly everything while trying to convince him that forcing you into marriage might earn us another breakdown. Let's just say that a smudge of guilt applied at the right time has saved us both from making a decision for a little while."

On an impulse, she shifts around to straddle the assassin and cover his face and neck with hot, urgent kisses, "You are a bad man, emma nan'mi."

After laying back on the ground to allow himself better access to his lover, Zevran smirks as his fingers coax a gasp out of her, "So you keep telling me."

**And I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to read and review. It has been nice to see what a few of you think of things, even if one or two of you have called my nutty apostate a Mary Sue. I have a special gift for those jackasses, by the way. It's called my middle finger and it's been raised to salute them.**


	46. Chapter 45

**Do I really have to say it again?**

**Oh, and yes, I do realize that I gave Leliana Schmooples before Orzammar. Oops? lol**

"We will eagerly await your return Aunt," Jade-Kieran's apprentice and adopted son-announces in a cheeky tone after the part of a dozen Chaisnd take down Loghain's superfluous messengers with hardly a scratch to show for it.

"I will be coming with it," the golem known as Shale demands before Lynx even has time to answer the young man.

She gives Shale an incredulous look, "Seeing as only Grey Wardens are entering the city, why should I make an exception for you?"

The construct towers over her, unimpressed with the elf blood's paralyzing glare, "Because its squishy companions insist that the short hairy ones you are going to visit made me and I wish to know if it is true."

She contemplates things for a moment, then nods and looks over at her elder nephew, "Shale will travel with us to Orzammar, but I'd appreciate it if we kept this between us. Aja will be pissed if she finds out that I put her little cohort in more danger that it needed to be."

Jade's emerald tinted black hair falls into his eyes as he bobs his head, "You're not the only one who would be in trouble Auntie. That being said, try not to take too long, I don't think either of us want mom to kick our asses. Again."

"I'll do what I can, but dwarves can be stubborn, spiteful son of a bitches when they want to be," she sighs then makes the decision to break an old agreement, "Listen, I know you want to make your own name without me or your parents interfering, but if we all survive this nightmare, I will teach you, if you would still desire to travel with me."

His eyes light up over the smile that is presently trying to wrap itself around his head, "You're such a softie Lynx. And in case you didn't notice, I've never actually stopped telling people that you're my aunt, even if I omit my parentage in most conversations."

"Yeah yeah, now get your ass out of my way before I turn you into a nug and let the dwarves eat your scrawny ass," she growls and starts towards the huge doors carved into the side of the mountain.

"Love you too Auntie!" Jade calls after her, causing her comrades to wince and ready themselves for her retaliation.

But the counterstrike never comes. In fact, there are a few who swear they spot a shadow of a smile flit across her face just before she passes into the cavernous entrance to the underground city.

Walking down the wide, spiraling stone road, Alistair's curiosity gets the better of him and he speeds up to match pace with his sister, "Why does that boy call you aunt? He didn't look like one of the chief's children."

"He's not their child, insofar as blood is concerned," she explains, her eyes taking note of each flaming brazier that passes every twenty feet oro so, "I found him after his birth parents had been killed by bandits. He looked to be around four winters old and I couldn't bring myself to simply leave him for the wolves. I took him to Kieran instead. He and Aja raised Jade as if he were their own which, as far as they're concerned, he is."

"Why wasn't he introduced then? Or help with that thing the chief did for Zevran?"

Lynx absently scratches a shoulder, "Because he wants to make his own way among the people rather than be handed everything like he would if he admitted to being Kieran and Aja's eldest son. He doesn't want special treatment-much like another royal blooded brat that I know-he wants to be judged on his own merits and seen as a person, not the boy who will never be chief."

"What is it that he wishes to learn from you?" Gabriel chimes in, his wary stares at the tons of rock hanging over their heads is nearly enough to make her laugh.

"The boy's magical talent manifested scarcely two years after Kieran took him in, much younger than people are used to. During one of my visits, we discovered that he learned more from my tutelage than any of the others who made the attempt. Since that time, I make a point to return to the clan as often as I can and give him something new to work on."

Gabriel, forgetting where he is in proximity to the volatile apostate, roars with laughter, "Jade was right, you are a big soft-yeeoouucchh!"

Lynx shakes the excess charge from her hand and ignores the hateful look that the Cousland is aiming at her, "Just because I won't harm a child for talking to me like that does not mean I will do the same for idiots who refuse to hold their tongue."

"You know, you can be an outright evil bitch sometimes," Alistair states in a more sour tone, "Zevran, you were supposed to keep her in a good mood this trip, not saddle us an extra dose of irritable."

"Like I've said many times, I never asked any of you to follow me. So if you don't like my attitude, don't let the door hit you on the ass on your way out," the woman icily cackles, "We're not in this to make friends, we're doing it to try and save this miserable world."

"Ah, sibling rivalry, it warms the cockles of my little black heart, "Zevran softly chuckles as the gates of the mechanical lift come into view, "Almost makes me want to reminisce about my own colorful childhood. I could tell you about the ti-"

"Shut up," Gabriel and Alistair groan simultaneously, invoking an impish smirk from their leader.

The guards wordlessly give them access to the lift, though they do give Spiorad, Ruby, and Shale an odd look as they plod after the others.

"Guys, I know this might be a bad time to tell you this," Gabriel rasps as they reach their destination and the doors slide open, "But I'm a touch claustrophobic."

"Too late to do anything about it now," Lynx replies, her usual venom absent as she strips her boots off and flexes her toes, "Just try to warn us if you feel a panic attack coming on."

He gives a weak bob of the head, following at her left, as they step out and are instantly blasted by a smothering wall of heat.

"Feels like summer in Antiva," her assassin murmurs while closing his eyes and taking a moment to bask in the oven like warmth.

The apostate walks ahead determinedly, forcing herself to rapidly acclimate to her new surroundings as she passes through the hall of stone statues and into the commons. It is there she is brought to a dead stop, along with her comrades, when they spot a group of stocky warriors viciously hacking away at each other in plain view of Orzammar's citizens. Cries of "For Prince Bhelen!" and "In the name of Lord Harrowmont!" grate her ears as each group cuts a bloody swath through the other.

"Am I the only one getting the feeling that securing aid will be just as easy here as it has been with all the others?" Alistairs glumly inquires from her right.

"Fuck that. I refuse to play messenger girl ever again," she snaps and motions for her fellow Wardens to follow her around the battle, "We're getting that treaty signed, even if I have to make them do it at knife point. Then we are going to run like the archdemon is literally on our asses."

"It is more intelligent than I thought," Shale banters, reminding the group of its presence, "Aja warned me this might happen."

"Wow, you actually called someone by name!" Alistair trumpets, earning a handful of questioning looks from the dwarva scattered through the area.

The construct doesn't miss a beat, "Aja is the only one to have ever earned that privilege, squishy tin man."

Knowing where this is headed, Lynx hastily points to a map that is carved into the wall, "Kieran said that all the uppity noble types all live up in the diamond quarter, which convieniently where the Chamber Assembly is as well. We need to get to the assembly in order to invoke the treaty. Easy."

Her brethren can hear the unspoken warning screaming from their leaders posture though and quickly rush after the barefoot woman.

**Sleeping time comes after writing time...**

***thud ***

***snore ***


	47. Chapter 46

***points at Bioware sign * They own.**

"And why the fuck should we help you? Bhelen is the rightful heir, being Endrin's son and all," Lynx growls at the gray bearded dwarf before her, "Hell, he's willing to go as far as allowing the casteless to join the army and make something of themselves, unlike your arrogant ass."

"But King Endrin himself expressed to me-"Harrowmont begins but the mage throws her arms up in exasperation, "I don't give a damn what you were supposedly told! You have no fucking clue just how little I care about any of this stupid political shit. Bhelen is the heir, so he gets to play king. I refuse to do any more of this shit. Fucking politics..."

The elder dwarf lunges from his seat with surprising speed, a dagger grasped in one meaty hand, and the elf blood spins around just in time to freeze him. Unfortunately, his momentum continues to carry his frozen bulk forward and he falls over, shattering in a blast of ice chips as he hits the floor.

Everyone gapes in disbelief at the bloody ice, then up to Lynx, who has a horrified look etched on to her angular face.

"Um, run," she mutters then takes off-her friends at her heels- darting through one door and into the hallway as the Lord's guards crash through another on the opposite side of the chambers.

The woman is briefly thankful that they had left Shale sifting through the Shaperate' library as she barrels towards the gates that lead to the commons.

"What about the golem dea?" Zevran inquires as if reading her thoughts, his gate moving in sync with hers when they take yet another turn in order to avoid the angry dwarva chasing after them.

"It will be fine, since it wasn't with us and there are a shitload of witnesses to prove that, but we won't be if we don't get out of sight right the fuck now!" she calls back, making a cluster of royal gossipers scatter and dive out of the way as they sprint by.

They break through the gates and make their way towards the lift, but have to redirect when they see guards blocking the way.

"Shit shit shit! This part of the city wasn't on that damn map!" she spits, wild eyes clamoring for an alternate route, then jumps when Gabriel grabs her arm "This way!"

Her brother Warden pulls her down a set of steps, passed mounds of refuse and debris, and into a foul smelling tunnel. She has to breathe through her mouth to avoid retching as they continue their flight, the clang of Alistair's plate making her head throb all the while.

When they reach a set of gigantic stone doors and the pair of dwarves guarding it, Lynx fires off a sleep spell. She drags the sleeping warriors out of their path while the men heave the doors open then wave her through.

"Where are we?" the apostate mumbles, taking in the immense corridor that glows with an orange light coming from braziers carve out of the walls.

Gabriel shakes his head as he leans over his knees and flounders to catch his breath, "I don't know, but hopefully it means we won't be followed immediately."

"I think we just came through the main entrance to the Deep Roads," Alistair surmises aloud between his own gasping pants, "They won't follow us here. This is where they send their condemned instead of executing them. It's also where..."

"Braska, this is where Grey Wardens come to die," Zevran concludes, his tone freed of its usual mirth or mockery, "At least we came dressed for this kind of party."

Once the mage has caught her wind, she begins running her hands along the seams on the walls, "There has to be another way out of here. We have to get Bhelen's signature on the treaty."

"Are you sure he will still honor it?" her lover queries, then takes a drink from his flask and offers it to her.

"I have to believe that he will or we're going to die in this hellish place for nothing," she admits, her shoulders sagging with defeat when no secret passages reveal themselves.

"Why did you have to kill him Lynx?" Gabriel asks amidst taking inventory of his pack, "We could have dealt with him another time, in another place."

The apostate sinks to the floor and shrugs off her staff. Drawing her knees up under her chin, she wraps her arms around them and huffs,, "He attacked me and I reacted Gabe. I didn't mean to kill him, just slow him down enough to keep him from killing me."

The men fretfully stop in place when glittering tears begin rolling down her dirt streaked face, "It was an accident dammit. If that stupid asshole would have just..."

Ruby and Spiorad slink over and flank her while she weeps, though soon enough she feels a hand on her shoulder. She opens her eyes to see Alistair's worried features swim into focus, "Why are you crying Lynx?"

"I've never killed by accident before, feels too much like killing an innocent," she whispers, shutting her eyes to their pitying looks, "I'll never get my life back now and the archdemon is going to kill everyone because I fucked up."

"So you're doing what? Giving up?" Gabriel sneers with an icy timbre, "You are just going to sit there and surrender because someone you didn't plan on killing died? That does not sound like the kick ass and ask questions later commander that I know and respect."

Her head snaps up, eyes flaring dangerously as she glares at her brother, "I never fucking asked to be your commander. As a matter of fact, Zev, Jowan, and I are about the youngest Wardens-in terms of our Joining-in Thedas. How the hell did I end up in charge in the first fucking place?"

Jowan, having finally shifted from a mouse and into his human form, crouches beside her, "Lynx, we are all cowards when compared to your will, your strength, your sheer tenacity. You carry such a presence with you...and you make all of the hard decisions we cannot."

"Cowards, you say?" she lets out an indignant snort, "Were you aware that Zev's little plan to go investigate those disappearances was just a front? He was trying to protect me while I ran away. I'd given up, couldn't handle being screamed at every single fucking time that I made a decision no one liked but didn't have the stones to come up with a better option. I was going to quite happily abandon all of you because I was tired of being responsible, of constantly being the scapegoat when things went to pot."

As the echoes of her voice fade, the only sounds come from the braziers and her companions shaky breathing.

"You were going to leave us?" the whine of Alistair's question yet again reminds her of a child, "How could you even consider doing something like that?"

She shifts to face him, "What? Did none of my incessant bitching and endless volley of insults make it clear little brother? Well, I'll spell it out for you then. I. AM. NOT. A. NICE. PERSON. I've hated each and every single one of you at some point in time because you've taken turns looking to me on how to fix things instead of trying to figure it out your damn selves. Hell, the first time I thought about leaving was in Lothering after we met Gabe, because he's a Cousland and I knew that he would make a better leader than I could ever hope to be."

"Why didn't you ever tell us that leading bothered you so much?" Gabriel prods after taking a seat beside his war hound.

"Do you truly think that anyone would have cared about that shit after I'd been such a bitch to all of you? No, it was easier to stay pissed off and keep forging ahead until I broke. Easier than admitting to having a weakness, than having to admit that I couldn't do it all on my own."

Zevran slides down against her back and wraps his arms around her in a silent show of support, then smiles when she unconsciously reclines against him, "There is no need to hide now dea. You have me to shoulder your burdens when they become too heavy."

The pair, never very affectionate in front of their comrades, hold one another tight after Zevran scoots her around and gives her a tender kiss. While the Antivan calms their leader, the others take the time to finish taking stock of what they have and pool their supplies.

After a time, Lynx unfurls her lithe form and acknowledges her brothers, "Bhelen knows that the rest of our band of lunatics are waiting on the surface, but has no idea that we are the only Grey Wardens among them. He'll probably send his answer to them when he can't find us, using Shale as the go between. All we ought to worry about for now is finding a way out that doesn't include suicide by dwarf or darkspawn."

"We could follow one of these roads and try to find one of the exits that the dwarves once used to trade with the surface world, "Jowan offers with an encouraging grin, "Our only set destination should be east though, so we don't have to worry about wandering into Orlais."

His words rattle loose a half forgotten memory in Lynx's head, "No, I think we should go west. Do you remember Kieran and Aja talking about all of those people turned away at the border by Loghain's men? Back at Ostagar Cailan had said something about the Orlesian empress wanting to send chevaliers to bolster their forces. Duncan had also mentioned that quite a number of Greycloaks were on their way, coming from that direction."

"Aja did say that some of those barred from entering looked like Grey Wardens," Alistair confirms, latching on to her train of thought, "We could smuggle them across the border through the Deep Roads. Loghain and his goons would never see them that way."

"That's only if we manage to find a route clear of darkspawn, "the Cousland brother adds, "But what the hell, all we've got to lose is our lives right?"


	48. Chapter 47

**I loathe disclaimers, but I don't want sued...or worse, banned from Bioware's games.**

**Oh, and sorry about the double upload, had a few dozen edits and mistakes that I had to fix and the site was taking to long to update the chapter.**

_Two months...a long damn time to spend underground _Lynx thinks to herself as she pauses in the yawning cave entrance and scans the hillside _Add drunken dwarva, archdemon sightings, insane ex wives, and stinking broodmothers into the mix and it's enough to drive anyone mad. _

"Good thing I was already crazy," she chuckle out loud and gulps down a lungful of the fresh night air before resuming her trek, "Now let's hope Jowan got the message to the others."

She marches down the hill with the contingent of nearly fifty Greycloaks, the two dozen Legion of the Dead members, as well as her lover, two mabari, and brother Wardens. Contemplating their chances of being ambushed while she walks, the apostate eventually surmises that yes, Jowan did make it to their friends, because they find no resistance of any kind as they trudge along the darkened shores of Lake Calanhad, through Redcliffe village, and up the road leading to the Arl's fortess.

"Commander, there is a group standing on the bridge ahead. They seem to be waiting for us, but they look nothing like regular soldiers, "Emilio-an Antivan Grey Warden-informs her as the castle looms closer.

There is no question as to who the people are. "Those are our other companions, let them join us if they so wish."

Soon Leliana's awestruck lilt is heard over the din, "By the Maker Lynx, where did you find all of these people?"

"Meh, here and there. You know how industrious I am when I need to be Leli," the mage snickers just as the bard is tackled by her overeager Templar.

"You are not as callow as I once thought Commander," Sten admits stoically when it is his turn to greet the elf blood.

"Wow, was that an actual compliment Sten? I guess fetching your sword for you really did make a difference," Lynx banters, sparing a glance at the sword she'd retrieved during their first visit to the smelly town, "It just took a while for you to thaw out."

"Lynx!" Jowan calls out as he and Eliza push their way through the crowd, "Lynx, I'm going to be a father! Can you believe it?"

"Baby shit and endless rivers of drool, yum," she rolls her eyes, but forces herself to grin at the happy couple, "I don't do shitty swaddlings, but if that's what you're into, who am I to judge..."

Jowan, having unraveled some of his leaders strange sensibilities over the last few months, smiles even bigger, "Thanks for being happy for us Lynx, it means a lot to me."

"Arl Eamon wishes to see us as soon as you're ready," Gabriel informs her with Morrigan tucked close to his side in spite of her mutterings about the displays being played out around her.

"I'll be there as soon as everyone has settled in," Lynx replies, her gaze washing over the small army as they begin making camp in the sprawling courtyard, "Zev, I need you to make sure that the Legion finds a good spot under the awnings-preferably against the back wall-I don't want them freaking out like the last time when the sun comes up.'

"Again?" a familiar voice inquires and she spins around to find Bann Teagan approaching.

She bobs her head in affirmation once, then tucks the loose strands of hair behind her pointed ears, "The first-and last-time they saw the sun was nearly two weeks ago, when we had to bring the other Wardens down into the tunnels. A few of them panicked when they laid eyes on the giant ball of fire that lit up the surface and looked like it was going to fall on them at any moment."

The human nods his understanding and gestures to the aforementioned troops, "How did you find all of these people?"

The weary hedge mage hands her heavy bag to one of the Chaisnd who materializes out of the throng to attend her, "They've been gathering at the Orlesian border because Loghain has stationed soldiers to prevent anyone from entering Ferelden without his explicit permission. They were planning on venturing through the mountains when we found them."

"Are they Orlesian?"

"Some," she admits as she takes a seat on a barrel someone has rolled over for her and tugs off her boots, "Others are from all over. The Free Marches, Nevarra, Antiva. Hell, I think we have a few from as far away as Rivain. I'm fairly certain that there might be one or two from the main headquarters as well, but don't hold me to that."

"Maker's breath," he chokes out, unable to comprehend the sheer force of will it must have took for her to corral that many people in such a short time span, "What of the dwarva?"

"Who? Them?" she pauses the task of massaging her feet and peers over her shoulder, "That is the Legion of the Dead, a group of warriors that give up their lives to hunt and kill darkspawn. Think of them as subterranean Grey Wardens, without all the perks."

Teagan's gaze lingers on the troop of short folk for a minute, then shifts his attention back to her, "How did you convince them to come to the surface?"

"Blame the boys on that one," she chortles and completely abandons her feet rubbing to accept a mug of steaming tea from another-this time elvish-Warden, "They are the ones who fast talked Kardol. Told him that his soldiers could be of better use against the archdemon's forces up here rather than hacking at random darkspawn every day down below."

"Do you intend for all of them to travel to Denerim with you?" he asks, tensing up as Shale lumbers by and waves at them, "Loghain could construe that as a show of force and answer with violence at the Landsmeet."

"No my friend, the Legion will be staying here-along with most of our brethren-to continue making preparations," Zevran coolly answers in his lover's stead-having not forgotten the man's ill treatment of her in the past- as he emerges from the gloom and drapes a cloack over her shoulders, "Those bound for the capitol are hoping to conduct a more thorough search of the Warden warehouse that resides within the city."

"That will be dangerous," the bann warns.

"No more than dwarven politics, I've learned," Lynx grimaces and wriggles deeper into the mantle, "Speaking of which, I'm assuming that you got word from Bhelen?"

Teagan nods again, "King Bhelen has vouched to support us against the blight, but also warned that it may be some time before the Grey Wardens are openly welcomed in their city again."

"Such is the life we live, you spoiled moron," she mutters so lowly that only her Antivan catches it, then raises her voice again, "They were having succession difficulties when we arrived and I disposed of the problem. Some people were unhappy about our interference."

She then reaches for her assassin to help her stand. It is then the human noble realizes that the hedge mage is a bit wobbly, "Are you injured commander?"

"I took a darkspawn maul to the back and it snapped like a twig," she grudgingly confesses, "The damage has largely been repaired, but I've had some lingering numbness in my legs and feet that shows up to annoy me every now and again."

"I am sorry to hear that," he obligingly murmurs in consolation as they make their way towards the castle entrance.

She waves her hand, dismissing his hollow apology, "Wynne will finish patching me up as soon as she can get me to sit still long enough. If she doesn't turn me into a yak or something first. Regardless, no need to worry your pretty head about little old me, I'll be ready for the Landsmeet when the time comes. I have to be."


	49. Chapter 48

**We all know who owns Dragon Age.**

Despite it being the middle of the night, Arl Eamon greets them in the main hall, dressed and fully aware. Isolde timidly hovers behind her aging spouse, her face obscured by a silk veil.

"It is good to see you again Wardens," Eamon greets them, though his eyes subtly narrow when they pass over Lynx, "You have done the impossible by drawing so many to your cause. Loghain..."

"Is a horses ass that will get what's coming to him when the time comes," Gabriel crows, making the Arl gape at him, "But you already know that he is not why this army has been gathered."

Eamon inclines his head to the younger man, "Of course Gabriel. But without the support of Ferelden and her armies, you must admit that the blight will be more difficult to quell. I apologize if I offend you, but this is the very reason I wished to address the Commander in private."

"Anything that can be said to me can be said to my friends," Lynx declares, much to the surprise of her comrades, "They are as much a part of this as I am and I will harbor no secrets for your benefit."

"I see," he murmurs thoughtfully and it is apparent to the group that he is going to change his tactic, "I believe that in order to truly unify our illustrious country, drastic measures must be taken. Anora is queen only through marriage, as she is not the descendent of King Calanhad. Ferelden needs a true leader on its throne, not Loghain's mouthpiece."

"Let me guess, you want to make Alistair your puppet king, since Gabriel has proven too stubborn to control?" Lynx growls and takes a menacing step forward, "You treated him like an animal, you asshole. Made him sleep in a barn rather than give him one of a dozen beds, refused to educate him, clothed him in rags while piling jewels on your dumbass wife, then shipped him off to the Chantry when he was no longer of any use to you. And now you suddenly want to play the patient and doting father figure? I don't fucking think so."

The human's face is an impressive shade of red by the time he explodes on her, "You are nothing but a maniacal Chasind witch who brutalizes and murders anyone who gets in the way! I should have had you executed for what you did to my wife and son, doubly so after you defended my poisoner and dared make him one of your order!"

"I did my fucking job, you ass faced goat fucker! I cut your idiot wife's face to ensure that she wasn't a damned demon, so be glad that I didn't do what I really wanted and slice her fucking throat!And just in case you didn't know already, I was forced to kill your son because your blushing bride was so gods damned ashamed of him being born with magic that she grabbed the first mage she could find to teach him how to hide his abilities!" she surges onward until she hovers in front of the dias, "And Jowan thought he was helping dispose of a traitor to his fucking country when he poisoned you! Tell me how that is any different from what you are doing right now!"

"You are going to get us all killed!" he rasps even as he backs down from the irate Warden.

She lets out a loud snort, "Maybe, maybe not. But at the very least I am busting my ass trying to save Ferelden instead of trying to take it over. Unlike your shriveled up old ass..."

"But he is the heir," Eamon finds a new angle to argue, "With Cailan dead, Alistair is the rightful king. You cannot deny that. He is of King Maric's blood and therefore heir to the throne."

"Actually I'm nothing of the sort," the former Templar chimes in, "Grey Wardens give up all names, lands, and titles when they join up. I'll simply be Warden Alistair from now until forever."

"How can we know that Anora will accept an alliance with a disavowed order and a horde of barbarians?" Isolde changes the subject, her words slightly slurred because of the scar that now twists one side of her mouth.

The elf blood's own lips curve upward into a razor sharp smile, "Because she won't have any other choice by the time we're finished. If she wants to continue breathing, that is. You see, while you noble types waste your useless lives doing a lot of figurative backstabbing, my friends and I are alive today because we've become quite adept at using the literal version."

"Monstrous," the arlessa accuses from behind her husband.

"Thank you. From a two faced bitch like you, I consider that a compliment," Lynx replies with a flash of red in her eyes, "At least I'm not one of you idiots, thinking that the sun rises and sets on their whim alone."

"It would do you well to curb your insolence," the aged human growls with all the venom he can muster.

"What are you going to do about it if I don't, execute me? Go for it, I could use a vacation from you morons," the mage retaliates then turns on her heel and walks out, leaving the couple gaping.

"That could have been handled better," Leliana comments as they enter the common room that has been set aside for the companions, "What provoked you to say those things Lynx?"

The hedge mage plops down on a chair and attempts to stretch her back, "Alistair is my brother and I'll be damned if I let some ambitious asshat turn him into a marionette. I thought you would be happy about it Leli, since it means all you have to worry about losing him to now is darkspawn...and maybe a cheese vender."

"I love you too," Alistair chuckles after draping his armor over a stand and picking his pack up, "I'm going to get cleaned up now, it feels like I haven't bathed in years."

"Jackass," his sister snipes, but there is the ghost of a smile on her lips, "Keep saying shit like that and I'll make you king just to spite you."

He gives Leliana a kiss, then quickly presses his lips to the top of Lynx's head before skittering off to find the baths.

"You seem different," the bard declares once her lover is out of hearing range, her cerulean eyes targeting the mage..

"You really have no idea," is the scarcely audible respone.


	50. Chapter 49

**Sorry I hadn't yet posted this week. My kids finished up with school for the summer and I've been battling a migraine (and losing) for four days now.**

**I still own nothing.**

The group leaves Redcliffe behind yet again two days later, but split off into two smaller groups a few hours after leaving in an attempt not to draw unnecessary attention to themselves. Their leader, never fond of actually riding horses, chooses to allow Zevran, Leliana, and Alistair load her up as a pack horse in order to lighten things for their own mounts, Spiorad and Jowan trotting at her side for protection.

The group skirts around the ruins of Lothering and slink their way across the bannorn. Circumventing patrols is frustrating and occasionally causes friction between the companions.

"Why does he always keep to himself like that?" Leliana snipes one morning, her gaze trailing after Jowan as they strike camp, "It's eerie, the way he just ghosts around."

Lynx glances over at the timid mage, "He knows that most people are suspicious of his kind, even after all these months. He's made a lot of wrong decisions to help warrant that suspicion and is now doing his damnedest to make sure he doesn't repeat them. He actually got quite chatty while we were in the Deep Roads."

The bard's azure eyes drift towards her lover, "So it is not Alistair he fears?"

"Not anymore," the hedge mage corrects, "But people devoted to the Chantry, such as yourself, still make him twitchy and don't get me started on what people like Morrigan do for his mindset. Also, he's moping. Leaving Eliza alone and pregnant has done nothing but bring him more worries."

"But I would never hurt him! He learned that months ago!"

Lynx shrugs a shoulder, "The last couple of months have been hard on all of us. You can't do shit about it but try and earn his trust again."

"Did you know that Morrigan had asked Gabriel to take her back to her mother's hut?" the human abruptly asks-confusing the apostate with the quick change of subject-and leans closer, "Why would she do that, especially knowing that her mother had intended on possessing her?"

"I have no idea. But Morrigan isn't sure the old bitch is dead and is afraid that Jowan or I could also be possessed, which is why we aren't with them," she confesses as they load some of their gear on to the second pack horse, "Alistair had been teaching Gabriel and Oghren some of his Templar tricks while we were underground, so if anything should go pear shaped, they ought to have things well in hand."

"I swear I'm going to kill that interfering trollop," Leliana suddenly growls, "Bossing everyone around like this. It's like she is trying to get us all killed!"

Lynx grabs the other woman's arm, "There is more to this than you realize, so hold off on the rampage and let me explain some shit to you."

"Morrigan sincerely believes that her mother is after the archdemon, more specifically its power," Lynx reveals, "It was too easy to kill Flemeth the first time, despite turning into a bloody dragon. Morrigan wants to be sure that mommy dearest isn't still around and plotting to use one of us as a vessel or something when it comes time to take down the son of a bitch."

At her conclusion, Lynx closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, willing the visions of the corrupted dragon in the Deep Roads out of her mind.

"What happened to you these last few months?" Leliana interjects, unsettled by the elf blood's flutter of fear, "Ever since Orzammar you've been so different. Less urm, bitey."

The question bites deep and throws open the plethora of waking nightmares seared into her soul. Then the calloused hand of her assassin wraps around hers.

"We were unfortunate enough, bella bardo, to have seen the archdemon with our own eyes," he declares, the tremor in his husky tenor undetectable to all but his lover, "The most horrible and frighteningly beautiful thing I've ever seen. It is not an experience one soon forgets."

"You didn't try to fight it, did you?" the Orlesian prods, eyes wide with shock.

"Of course not, we're alive aren't we? We hid, like any almost sane person would," Lynx chuckles morbidly, the sound is as brittle as glass, "Though when it turned to fly away, I swear the damn thing looked right at me. I'm not afraid to admit that, in that moment, I was on the verge of pissing myself and running for my life. Then it just flew away. We sat there for I don't know how long, thanking our lucky stars. That's when it hit me."

"What?" Lynx feels her free hand get caught by the other woman's.

"I promised the Creators something while that twisted creature was staring at me. I swore that I would never take advantages of my friends ever again, never purposely demean of degrade you, as long as the spirits gave me a chance to make good on my promise."

"She's done so much better with her vows than I have," Alistair smirks as he makes his presence known, "I promised that I'd never touch cheese again and ended up eating it for dinner that night. Now can we skip the rest of the dark and dreary talk and get a move on? Daylight is wasting."

Lynx begins visualizing her equine form, but Zervan tugs her to him and touches his forehead to hers, "Are you alright mi amore? You could forego changing this once and ride with me instead, if you so wished."

"That sounds like a good idea right now," she smiles, knowing that she is not the only one wishing to be comforted after their talk with the bard.

The Antivan helps her into the saddle, then swings up behind her and slips his arms under hers to clasp the reins, "This is not so bad, yes? A warm breeze, a smoothing riding mount, and a nice horse to carry us wherever we wish to go. All we need now is a bottle of Antivan brandy and Leliana to keep our Templar busy for a few hours so that I can impress you with my preferred riding style: bareback."

Annoyed with herself for being unable to smother her laugh, she elbows him in the side, "You know, those little comments of yours are still as awful as the day I decided not to kill you."

"Why are you laughing then cara?" he fearlessly counters, nuzzling her snowy hair, "I must have gotten better at seducing you...or your standards have fallen dramatically."

"Definitely lower standards," she cheekily responds, shrinking away when his breath tickles her ear, "But I'm positive that I'm not the only one who can say that. You are sleeping with a demented maleficar after all."

The elf raises one hand to his chest and touches the tattoo Kieran had etched into him months before, then brushes his lips along a sliver of her exposed neck, "Never lowered la mia dea. You are a goddess, while I am merely a whoreson with whom you've chosen to share your light with. You are the one who has taught me that I am more than the Crows made of me and gave me a reason to live rather than be content with simple survival."

"Likewise," she murmurs, still awestruck every time he confesses the extent of his feelings for her.

He gives her shoulder another kiss and they continue in companionable silence while Leliana begins to strum an old elvish song on her lute.


	51. Chapter 50

**Thanks for the faves/alerts/reviews guys :-) It's good to know that there are still some good people left out there in ff land.**

**I own nothing despite what the voices in my head tell me.**

Gabriel and his half of their motley crew catch up with the rest of their comrades a days ride from Denerim and quickly things go downhill.

Lynx is currently having her sore spine massaged when Sten angrily stomps over. "I was wrong and that is unacceptable. You are not fit to lead us to war and I must rectify that."

"What?" she mumbles, shaking off the drowsiness and sitting up to face him, "When did you suddenly decide all of this?"

"When the other Warden made it known that you chose to hide from the archdemon rather than destroy it when you had ample opportunity," he flatly responds, "Stand and defend yourself saarebas, it is time you were put in your proper place and I in mine."

"You seriously want to fight me here and now?" the Wardens tone is painted with disbelief, "This can't wait until after we've killed the archdemon and saved everyone's asses?"

The giant nods his head and draws Asala from its sheath, "I will defeat you, assume control of this army, and lead us to victory."

"Get the others out of the way Zev, I don't want anyone else getting hurt," she commands her lover, then grabs her staff and rolls to her feet, "Alright big guy, let's do this."

The qunari lunges forward, his swing low, forcing the mage into a back roll. As she gets to her feet, she fires off a burst of icy air, then leaps at him with bladed end set to strike his heart. Partially frozen, Sten can do little but bat the woman's weapon away from anything vital and hiss when the tip finds his flesh and sinks into his hip bone.

Lynx collides with his broad chest and tries using her strong legs to spring back before he can counter attack, but the limbs fail to react and she falls to the ground. She attempts another spell, but the quickly thawing qunari side steps and hesitates only a heartbeat before lashing out again.

Cursing her lower half and its refusal to cooperate, she flings a paralyzing curse, but it goes wide and she lets out a piercing cry as his blade hacks into her shoulder. Steel shredding skin and bone as the blade twists, she screams in agony a second time then retaliates with a chain lightning spell to his face. Sten howls in pain and raises his greatsword...

Then slumps forward and collapses to the dirt.

Unsure if it is a ruse to get her close enough to kill or not, the hedge mage rapidly binds the behemoth of a man in a crushing prison then waits for the spell to fizzle before confirming what she already suspects.

"Oh shit, I killed Sten," she finally announces, wearily falling back onto her rump as Zevran reaches her side and begins assessing her wounds.

Gabriel kneels in front of her, blocking the view of her now deceased former comrade, "I'm so sorry Lynx. I didn't know he was going to react like this when I told them about seeing the archdemon down there. I swear that if I'd-"

"I'm sitting here bleeding to death little brother," Lynx winces as the elf presses his hands to her shoulder in an effort to staunch the crimson river flowing down her chest and back, "Let Wynne heal me now, you can grovel later."

"How in the Maker's name did you take him down so fast?" Alistair gently demands after pushing a path through the group for Wynne to reach the elf blood, "Did you learn a new spell while we were separated?"

"No, I didn't. I really don't know how I did it, I just nailed him with a chain lightning and he fell over," she confesses, pausing to let out a keening whine when the elder mage stabs at the gaping hole in her shoulder, "I thought he was trying to deceive me in order to draw me in and caught him with a crushing prison to make sure he stayed down. I think he was already dead when I did it though."

"You made his heart give out," Jowan informs them as he checks the dead giants still form, "It seems that Sten did have a weakness besides his sword. His heart. There seems to be quite a bit of scarring on the organ. Good thing too, because you were losing that fight by miles."

"No shit," she grunts as Alistair lifts her up and carries her to her bedroll, "It's not like he did anything but kill stuff and whine about how inferior we all were anyways. I'd been looking for a reason to toss his ass since Haven."

"Time to sleep now Lynx. I promise that you can complain when you're feeling better," Wynne coos soothingly and the elf blood feels her world go dark.

When she finally returns to the waking world, her mouth tastes like its been stuffed with one of her brothers dirty socks and her shoulder is on fire. The warm lump at her back tells her where her mabari is currently...but the hand clutching her own is too big to be her Antivans.

"Alis, how long?"

"Just over a day," she is met with his gentle smile as her eyes flutter open and fight to bring her surroundings into focus, "We managed to sneak everyone through the city and into Eamon's estate here."

Lynx is wobbly as she struggles to sit and the almost Templar gingerly holds her arms to steady her, "You mean he didn't demand that you leave me outside the gates for the vultures to finish off? I'm impressed with his restraint."

"He is unaware of our arrival, as of yet," her brother confesses sheepishly, "Though he will soon enough, I think."

She stops stretching her newly healed limb and gives him an exasperated look, "What did you lunatics do this time?"

He holds his hands up in surrender, "We haven't done anything. Yet. Gabe overheard some strange rumors about the alienage this morning while shopping for supplies so he, Jowan, and Zevran went to poke around a little, that's all."

"Are these rumors suggesting something that I'm going to need my armor for?" she lifts one pale eyebrow as he ducks his head.

"Maybe."

The apostate slowly raises to her feet and-when she's confident that she is no longer in danger of falling on her face-shuffles over to where her gears-which have been meticulously cleaned- are piled on a trunk and begins pulling them on.

Alistair bolts from his seat when he realizes what she intends to do, "What are you doing Lynx? You are in no condition to be going anywhere!"

"You said that Gabriel, Zev, and Jowan went poking around, then told me that it may involve me needing my armor," the woman deadpans, "So we're going to have to go take a look at what they've been up to."

The young man behind her sighs, "You're not going to take no for an answer, are you?"

Lynx gives him a sideways glance and flashes her brother a mischievous smirk, "Do I ever?"

"I was afraid you were going to say that," he grumbles and sets off to retrieve his own gear.


	52. Chapter 51

**I'm figuring there is about 11 chapters left-including the epilogue.**

**I still don't own.**

"Gods damned back stabbing shems," the white haired woman growls after the arrogant slave master finally falls to the brunt of her wrath, "What fucking idiot ever thought that the concept of slavery was a good idea anyway?"

"No doubt it was the same people who believed that the noble class would actually stay honorable once they realized the kind of power they wielded," Zevran banters as he cleans his blades on the corpse of another slaver then slides them home in their sheathes.

"The Tevinters, I think, were the fir-"Gabriel and Jowan interrupt with a yelp as the locked box in front of them abruptly breaks open, then wave everyone over to start sifting through its contents.

"Oh Maker, I knew Loghain was abhorrent, but I would never have believed him capable of this level of depravity," the Cousland states and lifts a large stack of papers, "All of this was approved by Loghain himself. That's his personal seal. That bastard was selling citizens of Ferelden to slavers in order to fund his rise to power and he calls us the traitors."

Alistair's expression is thunderous as he stomps away from the rescued elves, "The last group was taken four days ago, they said that their keeper was among them."

"This is a ship manifest," Jowan holds up a tattered book, "There is no way we can save them if they were taken by boat."

Lynx's eyes flit over the huddling mass of elves, "Eamon is a self serving prick, but I have no doubt that he would find this as appalling as we do. We may not be able to save them, but we can nail Loghain's shriveled up balls to the wall. Gabe, Alis, I want the two of you to carry that trunk back to the estate. Let Eamon take a look at what we found, but don't leave him alone with a single bit of it, I don't want any shit to be "accidentally" be misplaced should it implicate someone he's friendly with. I'm going to take the rest to see what the other group managed to glean from that blind knight."

"Do you think that is wise sister?" Gabriel's features are etched with worry as he gives a pointed look at her shoulder and legs, "What if your legs start giving you trouble again? Or your wound is torn open? No offense intended, but you and Jowan aren't the be-"

"Wynne is with them, and she ought to be able to patch me up good enough to fight if I have a problem," the hedge mage dismisses even as a web of pain engulfs her from the waist down, "If we're not back by dark-"

"Kill Loghain a lot?" the former Templar suggests after he and Gabriel jointly lift the chest.

Lynx chuckles and reties her hair, "I was going to say come rescue us, but that works just as well. As long as you come save our asses when you're done."

As her brothers snicker and exit the building, the mage feels a hand slip under her armor and begin massaging the jagged scars Jowan's healing had left along her back.

"You are in pain dea, you should go back with them and rest."

She looks to her lover and snorts, "When are any of us not in pain nowadays Zev? It doesn't matter, I can't sit back and lick my wounds while all of you risk your lives doing my job."

"Do you need me to take a look at it?" Jowan queries after noticing the assassins ministrations.

Lynx shakes her head, "No, just do that electrical thing you did after I killed Sten. Those little jolts helped loads."

He nods and presses his hand to her spine then waits for the hedge mage to grit her teeth and give him the okay before flooding the area with low voltage shocks. Her legs go watery, and the Antivans strong arms are the only things that prevents her from crashing to the filthy floorboards.

When it is over and she is steady enough to stand without aid once more, he relinquishes his hold on his lover.

"Well, that was fun," the commander tries to smile but it comes out a twisted grimace as she hurriedly pats down a rogue spark chasing down the length of her bangs, "Let's get this done before I try to beat a backbone into these flat ears."

Spiorad leads them to a building that was once an orphanage, according to Zevran. Lynx and Jowan exchange a grim look when they feel the shredded Veil writhing in the air around them.

"The Veil is torn here," Jowan states for the assassins benefit, "Caution would be most wise."

The former Crow silently draws his longswords in lieu of his signature daggers and squeezes through the jammed door first, with the others close on his heels.

The stench of rotting meat assaults the companions as they pad through the bloodied halls, the most recent signs of carnage acting as a guide to their friends. Wisps dance around them as they slink along, sometimes wailing terrible warnings of the evil that has made a home here.

A few mutated, vile things are dispatched quickly as the tell tale sounds of a battle being waged begin piercing the air.

They crash into the room where they find the others struggling with some sort of demon. Leliana's song of valor floats above the din, although the words are sharpened by the bard's own fighting spirit.

Lynx shouts to her comrades, though her greeting also captures the attention of the abomination. She moves out of the line of fire swiftly, then curses as it turns its grotesque smirk on Jowan.

"I'm over here, you limp dicked freak!" she taunts, hurling a fireball into its side, "Come fight someone your own size!"

As soon as it is distracted from the human mage, a hex flares around the beast, weakening it just enough for the party to swarm it. In mere minutes, the demon is shoved back into the Fade. Leliana rushes to Ser Otto, who is lying prone on the blood soaked floor.

"Ser, it is done! We have defeated the monster!"

His reply is mumbled and trails off before Wynne has time to prepare her most powerful healing spell.

She watches the bard weep over the fallen knight, whispering prayers. When the woman finally quiets and stands to peer at her leader, her eyes are bloodshot and dark with fatigue. "Let us retire to Eamon's estate before any guards come to investigate the racket we have caused."

The apostate nods her agreement, then takes the lead of the line of battered comrades as they trudge their way back to their temporary sanctuary.


	53. Chapter 52

**Insert disclaimer here.**

Another screaming match about putting Alistair on the throne is in full swing when it is unexpectedly cut short by a servant escorting a well dressed elven woman into the chambers.

"Erlina, it is an honor to have the queen's personal handmaiden in my home," Eamon drawls as if he'd not been yowling only a minute before, "How can I be of service to her Majesty?"

The servant offers the aging human a deep bow, "My Lord, Arl Howe has lost his mind and taken her Majesty! I didn't know where else to go!"

Lynx leans over to Alistair and whispers, "So...trap?"

He bobs his blond head and folds his arms over his barrel chest, "Definitely a trap, but set by whom? Loghain? Howe? Or Anora herself?"

Gabriel, shifting to Alistair's right, snorts in derision, "I'll wager it was Anora. She's always been a frosty control freak. It would be just like her to pull something like this."

"I'll say Howe, just for what he did to Gabe and his family," Jowan meekly adds then offers an apology to his fellow Greylcoak.

Alistair smirks and victoriously blurts, "Loghain," before Lynx or Zevran can claim the name.

"What's the ante then, since I know positions are off the table?" Zevran purrs, pulling an empty pouch from his belt and untying the cord.

"Not much. A full sovereign," Lynx decides with a toothy grin, "We can talk about positions in private so Alistair's head doesn't explode from embarrassment."

"Saucy, I like it," the elf smiles lecherously.

"Not much you say?" the Templar whines as he reaches for his pouch, "A sovereign is all that I have left after stopping by the cheese vendor."

His sister elbows him in the side, "Get over it or I'm going to beat you to death with your precious cheese."

Zevran turns his grin back to his lover, "Don't be so hasty about that dea, it might be an enduring fantasy of his to leave this world in such a manner."

She lets out an evil cackle and winks at the elf, "Maybe I'll just heat it up to boiling and pour it over his big blocky head. See how much he likes it then."

"I've had a reoccurring dream where I've been swimming in a massive vat of gooey cheese and it was so wonderful," Alistair's features turn wistful for a moment before melting into a frown, "Then Morrigan came along and drowned me in it."

"Death by cheese? This is officially the weirdest conversation ever, even for us," Gabriel shakes his head and peeks over at the Arl, "Hurry up, I think they're almost done."

They quickly deposit the coins into the bag and Zevran tucks it away from sight while Eamon concludes his discussion with the elven maid. As he hobbles closer, Lynx spots Erlina making doe eyes at her assassin and utters a low, feral growl at the woman, causing her to squeak and scurry from the room.

"I love it when you get so possessive of me cara. You have no idea what it does to me," he suggestively coos into her hair before donning his usual cocky smirk and facing the Arl.

"Queen Anora has been taken hostage by Rendon Howe and is being held at his estate here in Denerim," he aims a dark look at the lone female Warden before adding," It seems that she was willing to give the Grey Wardens a full pardon and stand with us at the Landsmeet, causing Howe- and most likely Loghain- to take measures."

"Is there any proof of this intent?" Lynx inquires in spite of what her intuition is telling her.

Eamon hands her a piece of parchment, "Erlina gave me this."

She takes one look at the letter, notices the strange ink it is written in, then peers over to Jowan, "Is this written in what I think it is?"

"Yes," he confirms, taking the letter from her and holding it up to the window, "This will make it much easier to track her down."

The human lord bristles over the pairs thinly disguised talk of blood magic, but his complaints are stalled by the annoyed glares of the other Wardens in the room. He fidgets in agitation while the companions construct a plan with looks, gestures, and half spoken sentences.

"That is final," Lynx eventually scowls and the men quiet, "Gabe, Alis, you will stay here with Oghren, Wynne, Morrigan, and the dogs. Jowan, Leli, Zev, and I will go save the stupid damsel in distress. While we're busy, try to send a message out to the other Wardens and apprise them of the new situation. I don't want anyone to be caught unawares if this explodes on us."

"What's the plan if you are captured?" Alistair's visage is pained as he gingerly drops an arm over her shoulders, "I don't want to lose any of you."

"Come and rescue us of course," his sister half-jokingly responds, then sobers, "You have enough evidence to bring the Landsmeet-and Loghain-to their knees little brother. If the worst should come to pass, you or Gabriel flip a coin on which of you will volunteer to be king, then hack Loghain into kibble. After that you can come and set us free. Easy peasy."

None of those set to be left behind are happy about it, but once Lynx convinces them that stealth is needed over brute strength, they individually vow to come to their aid should the group find themselves trapped. Oghren even gives the hedge mage a flask of his good stuff for luck as they head out to save the queen.


	54. Chapter 53

**Still not mine.**

**Pretty unhappy times coming up. Mentions of rape and abuse. Consider yourself warned.**

The look on her assassin's face when she surrendered herself could have melted stone. Only her whispered "Trust me" stayed his hand and prevented his death by Ser Cauthrine and her contingent of well armed guards.

_Ser Cauthrine. Loghain's right hand bitch. He probably carries a treat bag on his belt to reward her for a job well done._

The stupid human woman hadn't listened to a word Anora said when the queen herself stood before her and insisted that the Grey Wardens had come to rescue her from Howe and his dungeon of perversions.

"That could have gone better," Lynx grumbles to herself as her swimming vision grows steady enough for her to see the gray stone walls bouncing along side her, "Zev's going to kill me."

The guards at Fort Drakon were nowhere near as admirable as the men who brought her to the prison, the bruising on her body and the sharp throb coming from her face and lower orifices are testament enough of that.

The mage bane in her system finally on the wane, the Warden strives to discern the length of time she has been held captive. The stubble on her legs-usually shorn every morning by a razor edged knife-indicates that she has been slipping in and out of consciousness for around four or five days.

_A minimum of fours days of rapes, beatings, and poison induced delerium_ She shudders at the half formed memories of men brutalizing her and barely has enough energy to turn her head and expel the bile that surges into her mouth.

_Was it worth it?_ A spiteful voice vaguely reminiscent of Morrigan drifts through her fractured psyche _Such a proud creature, broken by a misplaced sense of loyalty._

Somewhere Alistair is yelling at the swamp witch to shut her damn mouth before he shuts it for her permanently.

Her swollen and broken nose briefly picks up the aroma of cloves, honey, and leather, but she brushes the olfactory fantasy away.

_Gabriel said that no one has ever escaped this place. They won't find me until it's too late._

"I'm going to die in a cage," she whimpers and tries to curl into herself, but her legs refuse to obey, "An unwilling whore and a broken husk. Maybe this is my payment for being such a heartless bitch all these years."

"Don't you dare say those things Aurora," Zevran commands, his accent more pronounced in his fury, then adjusts her broken form in his arms as he dashes through a darkened corridor, "You deserve to be worshiped as the goddess I know you to be, not shackled and beaten into submission by maniacs. You never deserved to be tortured or caged la mia anima."

"Zev," the elf blood croaks, grimacing at the agony clawing at her throat, "Zev...they forced me to take...forced me to take mage bane, before they...fuck...I can't heal...my legs aren't wor..."

"Wynne will take care of you mi amore, I swear it," he slows his pace long enough to press his lips to her own crimson stained and split ones before returning to a full on sprint.

The mage slips in and out of the Fade, the blissful quiet thrum of her lovers heartbeat intermittently broken up by searing pain coursing through her.

Finally the voice of the senior enchanter reaches her ears, "I've done all that I can, the rest will mend with time. Mostly."

"But the Landsmeet is tomorrow," Gabriel argues from across the room, "She can't go into that hall looking like death warmed over, if she'll be able to walk at all."

"Yes I can go. And I will, even if I must crawl to do it," she forces her voice to a higher volume with each word she speaks, "I am living proof of what Loghain is willing to do to people who try to curb his tyranny. Those lordlings need to see for themselves what that shem is capable of if they leave things unchecked."

"Welcome back," Alistair gives her a relieved smile as she lifts her eyelids and takes a look around, "I have to say that Gabriel was very impressed with the gift you had Zevran give him."

"Yeah, nothing like a severed head to brighten my day," their brother chuckles morbidly and strolls over to the foot of her bed, "I've already boiled it down and had Morrigan preserve the skull. Once we get a chance to stop at the Peak, I'm going to put it on the mantle of the big fireplace."

With the help of her brothers, the apostate worms her way upright, "As long as you leave room for the archdemon's head, I don't care what you do with it. Howe murdered your family, I thought you deserved some proof that your family had been avenged."

"Speaking of the keep, our brethren sent a missive. According to the letter, the Drydens have been very welcoming," Jowan quietly announces from his chair by the door, "I guess they brought the dwarva with them, to minimize the chaos in Redcliffe. The stout folk have been going crazy over improvements that could be made to the castle to make it more impregnable."

Zevran, who has taken up the task of untangling and plaiting his lovers hair into its usual long braid, glances at the other mage, "Any news of the Chaisnd yet?"

Jowan smacks himself in the forehead and jumps to his feet, "I can't believe I forgot! Your nephew is here with Shale and a handful of others. They were settling in and grabbing a bite to eat when I came up a short while ago. Should I go fetch them for you?"

"No, I'm not ready for all of that shit yet," she waves a hand to dismiss the question, then brings it closer to inspect the black, purple, and greenish splotches that cover the limb, "I guess they really did a number on me, didn't they? I ought to go back after we dispose of the archdemon and burn the place to the ground just to say thanks for all of their hospitality."

"I took the life of every single person who carried your scent on them," her Antivan murmurs into her ear, "They all died in exceptional pain, I promise you la mia dea."

A vapid smile finds its way on to the woman's battered face, "Good. I might have had to stave off the burning long enough to return their attentions thoroughly-with a barbed club- had it been otherwise."

"I don't mean to change the subject here, but what in the Black city are we going to do with Anora?" Alistair pipes up after a few minutes of contemplative silence pass by, "I mean she's been staying here, promising us her support every chance she gets. When she saw us bring you in, she sicked up in one of the plants and called her father a monster."

She scans the chambers, her expression thoughtful, until her gaze finds its way to the young man again, "All politicians are snakes, but she is one viper that could prove to be useful. We'll push for a bid to leave her on the throne simply because it seems that she is one of the few who truly realize that there is more at stake here than the future of Ferelden. If she turns and bites us, we'll just chop off her head."

"What are we going to do about Eamon then?" Jowan queries, "He is still demanding that Alistair put forth his bid."

"That slimy geezer can go fuck himself," she snaps, making her assassin chuckle behind her, "Besides, what he doesn't know won't hurt us. He can let us do our thing then throw a tantrum about it after the Landsmeet."

Alistair begins to speak, but Wynne snipes that Lynx has had more than enough excitement for now and can be badgered further after a few more hours of rest and recuperation. The hedge mage almost likes the old biddy as she herds everyone out of the room but Spiorad and the lascivious elf she is reclining against.

The lovers are silent as time stretches on, until Zevran kisses her temple, "The next time that you ask me to trust you, I may need a moment or two in order to consider the implications of what you are asking mi amore."

"I did what I had to so that we all made it out of that mess alive," she counters and-ignoring the vehement protests of her body-shifts around to curl up against his chest, "We've worked too damn hard to have let things be destroyed by a power hungry idiot."

His hand tenderly cups her cheek and lifts it to peer into her eyes, "Do not ever ask me to let you go again Aurora. That is a pain I do not care to experience twice."

"I will do my best," she promises, drowsiness quickly seeping into her mind and taking root, "Don't leave tonight Zev. I'm scared to be alone."

"Never," is the whispered reply.


	55. Chapter 54

**And now...the Landsmeet.**

**I still don't own.**

_You can do this_ Lynx tells herself as the members of the Landsmeet let out a collective gasp at her bruised and battered visage.

"Lords and Ladies, I am Grey Warden Lynx. My appearance is disturbing, I readily admit this, but it let it be known that what you see is just one piece of evidence that I have to show that proves what lengths Loghain will go to in order to remove any obstacles that stand in the way of his ambitions and delusions of grandeur."

"The man, once known to all as the Hero of the River Dane, has become a madman," Gabriel continues, his eloquent timbre more demanding off attention than Lynx could have imagined, "He abandoned our king at Ostagar, ordered the poisoning of Arl Eamon Guerinn, collaborated with Rendon Howe to sell our citizens to slavers, and pinned all of the blame for his actions on the Grey Wardens and Orlais."

The nobles burst into shouted accusations while the hard proof of the Cousland's claims are circulated around the chamber.

"And I assume that either you or the idiotic bastard son of Maric's are going to depose my daughter and offer to lead our nation to victory in her stead?" Loghain sneers, his head held high despite the angry vassals who are screaming for him to explain his actions, "If you had not stolen my daughter and imprisoned her somewhere, I wonder what she would make of your claims."

"I think I can answer that," Anora's crisp tone cuts through the irate throng as she glides into the room, "The Grey Wardens live and die to protect us from the foul creatures who seek to destroy us all. These honorable warriors do not seek power or privilege, rather they only seek the freedom to perform their sworn duty. My father and his preoccupation with Orlais, dismissed the warnings of a coming blight and named the Grey Wardens agents of his lifelong enemy. Even now he stands blind to the destruction wrought by the horde all across our country, damage that could have been prevented if he had not so willingly succumbed to his own paranoia. My father had Rendon Howe kidnap me and keep me locked in his estate in an effort to prevent me from being here today because I sought answers that he did not want to give. The Grey Wardens saved me at great cost to themselves, as Grey Warden Lynx's visage can attest."

"You've poisoned my own daughter against me!" the old warrior bugles and charges at Lynx, his blade raised high, but the blow is met by Alistair's ever present shield.

"No, you will fight me," the former Templars grin is blackened with hate, "I will be the one to put you in your place, traitor."

For a few heartbeats, the hedge mage is unsure of the correct path, until she sees the pleading gaze the young man is giving her.

"Kick his ass little brother."

The fight is a blurred stream of blades and blood, the discordant ringing of steel on steel a grating echo within the massive stone space. The aged warrior's experience is nullified by the younger's stamina, speed, and unbridled rage. Unexpectedly, it is a shield bash that brings the Teryn to his knees. Everyone stands frozen as Alistair leans down and whispers something into the man's ear before bellowing a deafening roar and rending Loghain's head from his shoulders.

Riordan turns on his heel and hurries to inform the other Wardens of the outcome while Lynx and the others run to aid their friend.

"You will have your aid Wardens," Anora loudly vows in spite of the tears coursing down her face, "Please, I beg of you, do not fail."

"We won't," Lynx mutters, shielding her youngest brother from prying eyes as he is led from the chamber, "One way or another, I promise you that this nightmare will find its end."


	56. Chapter 55

**Time to make everyone mad at me lol**

**Oh, and graphic chapter.**

**I don't own Dragon Age.**

"Where is he?" Lynx demands as she storms into the main hall of Eamon's ostentatious mansion, "Where in the hell is Alistair?"

Zevran silently gestures the direction their fellow Warden went and steps in front of the others before they can follow her out.

After twenty minutes of searching the grounds, she finds him in the hayloft of the stables, sobbing in a woeful manner she hasn't experienced since right after surviving Ostagar. Without a word, she pries off her armor then helps him out of his own heavy plate before cradling him to her chest and rocking him as if he were a child.

When she first feels his lips ghost over her clavicle, she thinks nothing of it, but when they travel upward to the expanse of her throat, there is no mistaking the kind of comfort he now seeks. This she can do. This she knows. She allows herself to relax and surrender to his attentions. He gives her a momentary look, his eyes full of hunger and pain, then his mouth covers hers roughly, desperately, and she responds in kind as his hands start to tug at her remaining coverings.

Soon, he rolls her onto her back, mewling his need into her skin. She makes him stop just long enough to look her in the eyes, giving her unspoken permission, before letting her head fall back. Instantly he is between her pale thighs and slides into her with a strangled moan.

The young man's tears join hers, chasing one another down her cheeks, as he drives himself into her over and over again. A new sob rumbles out each time she finds her release and her body tightens and shudders around him. Every time he slows his undulations, succumbing to his sorrow, her manic kisses and sharp nails urge him back to his frantic pace and pounding thrusts as he takes her.

He bites at her bruises, licks her scars, and reverently kisses reopened wounds that dot her lithe form. Fresh tears spout from her eyes when he moves around so that she sits astride him, her broken body bare for him to peruse freely. With his hands and hips then resuming their punishing ministrations, each leaving new bruises to freshly bloom in their wake, she has to bite back a scream of both pain and pleasure.

All too soon though, the apostate's damaged legs begin to tingle and tire. Sensing her fatigue, the Templar turns the mage on her stomach, covers her smaller physique with his own chiseled form, and slides in to the hilt with little prompting. She feels teeth scrap the back of her neck as he gyrates against her and arches it in a silent invitation to continue. He pulls her upright against his chest and waits for her to brace her hands on the wall, then sinks his teeth into her skin and resumes thrusting into her with all the strength he can muster.

The coppery scent of blood accompanies the sting of his bite, but the sensation is enough to throw the elf blood over the edge yet again, forcing her mouth wide with a soundless cry. The set of spasms wracking her body is finally too much for him to bear and he roars into her shoulder as he spills his seed.

Once she can breathe, she nudges the human slumped against her back into motion until he is laying with arms wound tightly around her waist and his head is over her heart. She stays quiet when he begins to weep again, but takes a moment to grab the other Warden's cloak and drape it over their exposed frames. As her mind drift with exhaustion, her thoughts are torn between the need to comfort her brother and her own growing urge to slip away and seek her own solace in the arms of her Antivan.

She rouses a short time later and finds Alistair already dressed, his back to her as he bauckles the last of his gear in place. She extends a hand to clasp his own and gives it a squeeze.

"I'm so sorry Lynx," he murmurs without turning around, "I was wrong to have made you do that."

"I understand why it happened Alis, so don't beat yourself up over it," she answers, keeping her voice soft, "You didn't force me to do anything. You needed me, there is nothing wrong about that."

"But Zevr-"

"Stop. Zevran will understand what happened and why, probably better than you ever will," she sighs and sits up, mindful to keep herself covered for his benefit, "Comfort can come in many forms Alistair. There is nothing evil about needing it physically."

The former Templar finally twists around to peer down at her and lifts his free hand to caress one black and blue cheekbone, "I want you to know how I feel about you before we walk away from whatever this is."

She raises one eyebrow in question and he blushes before continuing. "You are my best friend, my commander, my sister. I will always love you in my own way Lynx, but only as these things from now on," he leans down and gives her one last kiss, "And I wouldn't give that up for anything."

"Me either," she admits, then laughs as he pulls her to her feet and helps her dress.

He retreats to the safety of the manor, leaving the hedge mage to make her own way after giving her a crushing hug and one of his trademark smiles.

"Is our little Templar feeling himself again?" Zevran inquires as he emerges from the shadows and embraces her, "If I didn't know how innocent he truly was and heard his apologies afterwords, I might have done something drastic cara."

"Thank you for understanding emma nan'mi," she buries her head in the curve of his neck and breathes in his scent as he lifts her from the ground and begins walking towards the main house. "He will be okay though, soon enough."


	57. Chapter 56

**I own nothing.**

Lynx and her companions stop for a brief respite at Soldiers Peak in order to gather their wits as well as the dwarva, then continue the grueling march to Redcliffe.

"Why are we gathering in this awful place?" Morrigan simpers as the spires of their destination come into view.

The commander shrugs one still mending shoulder, "Most of the darkspawn activity has been seen in either the Hinterlands or the Korcari Wilds, both of which lie to the south of Redcliffe. It seemed more reasonable to make it the rally point."

"There is also plenty of fresh fruits, meats, fish-and other goods that can be easily transported by boat- available to keep the army fed," Alistair elaborates, readjusting his plated bulk in his saddle, "And because an army runs on its stomach, Redcliffe was the logical choice."

"Not to mention all of the quarries in the area, they help the smiths get faster access to the raw materials needed to construct weapons and armor," Gabriel adds tiredly from his place to Lynx's left.

Zevran, who had been walking his horse next to his mage for some time now, suddenly lifts his lover off of her feet and places her on the equine's broad back before she can react, "It would do no good for your soldiers to see their commander stumbling with fatigue dea."

"You're as tired as I am," she waspishly counters, then glares at the assassin until he relents and takes a seat behind her, "And you know how I hate riding these damned things alone. I feel like I'm going to fall off any second."

During their brief spat, the lovers neglect to mention the despite other mages best efforts, the best Lynx can boast is fewer bouts of numbness and pain in her lower extremities.

"We're all tired, but there is a hot bath, a warm meal, and a soft bed awaiting each of us at the castle," Wynne chimes in to assuage the road weary party.

Everyone falls quiet again as they crest the hill...

And are greeted by flames and a raging battle in progress just as the Wardens are slammed with a sickening sensation.

"Darkspawn!" a myriad of Greycloaks bellow and surge forward to meet the scourge that has descended upon the village.

Zevran kicks his horse into a canter as Lynx raises her staff and begins calling to the angry storm clouds that hang over their heads. Racing alongside the lovers are Morrigan and Jowan, drawing fire and ice to carry out their will while Gabriel, Oghren, and Alistair cover their backs.

Abruptly a large gathering of darkspawn encroaching on the terrified militia are engulfed in flames, lightning, and deadly streams of ice. Cheers ring out for a few seconds before the sounds are swallowed by the din.

Lynx feels her fellow rider launch himself from the saddle and she immediately follows suit, the pain in her legs fading to a distant shadow as she rolls to her feet and throws herself into the battle.

The moon has long since risen when the party is finally able to enter the castle. Their hopes for a meal and a bath are dashed though then they are met by a room packed full of armored men and women.

Riordan emerges from the fray, his pallid skin and the dark circles encompassing his eyes making him look little better than a corpse, "We have a problem sister."

"Can it wait at least until we have gotten a hot meal into our bellies?" the female Warden snaps, pushing off of Jowan and Zevran to stand under her own power, "We've been fighting all fucking night Riordan, and that was after busting our asses to get here."

The Orlesian Warden shakes his head solemnly, "I returned near the end of the battle myself, after being witness to a scene most terrible. The bulk of the horde is not marching on Redcliffe like we'd heard, but instead has turned its eye on Denerim. To make matters worse, the archdemon has been spotted and it is at the head of the army."

There is a heartbeat of absolute silence throughout the entire chamber, until Lynx replies, "So let's go get these bastards! If all of the Grey Wardens ride out now, ahead of the army, we could beat them to the capitol!"

The man negates her order with another head shake, "Even with the two dozen Greycloaks that have filtered out of the mountains, we cannot defeat on our own commander. We stand a better chance of winning if we stay with our forces and fight as one."

"Fuck me running," Alistair blurts, shocking everyone with his coarse verbiage, "Is there no other way to do this brother?"

"I'm afraid not, but you fight with the army you have," the older man confesses morosely, shifting his gaze to the rug, "There is also Grey Warden business we must discuss before we head out, but that may wait until after you've cleaned up and eaten. Attend to your military's leaders, then seek me out."

He melts into the crowd, leaving Lynx fuming as she is swarmed by the other men and women who have been waiting to have a word with her.

Soon the wall of voices overwhelm the mage and she slams her staff off of the stone floor, sending sparks of ice, flame, and electricity flying from its bladed tip and amethyst crown. She glares at the swarm until they cease shouting and grow still.

"The archdemon has finally shown its ugly face to the world and has been sighted at the head of the darkspawn army ladies and lords. I suggest that you and your soldiers make peace with your gods and be ready to come face to face with your worst nightmares. We march for Denerim at dawn, anyone not ready will be left behind."


	58. Chapter 57

**Bioware owns all.**

"Do you believe any of what Riordan enlightened us to?" Zevran asks as his mage shifts around and tosses a blanket over their sated and cooling bodies.

"Which part? That it is going to take a Grey Warden to kill the archdemon permanently or that we'll die if we're lucky enough to strike the killing blow?" Lynx counters and snuggles deeper into his side.

"Both, I'm afraid to admit," he confesses, his accent thickened by a torrent of mixed emotions.

Her violet eyes drift towards the far wall of their tent, "Truthfully? I have no idea what I should believe at this point, but as we will be moving on Denerim in the morning, I guess we will find out the validity of his words soon enough."

Spiorad, sensing the lovers joined trepidation, wriggles his way between their lower halves and collapses on to his belly with a plaintive whine.

The hedge mage gives her war hound a comforting scratch and forces her tone down a more jovial path, "You know, when all of this is done, you are taking me to that vineyard you got stuck in my head all those months ago."

"I want to take you on a tour of the Antivan countryside in the spring, when all of the flora is beginning to bloom," he informs her with a bright smile and winds his arms around her, "Then we'll go to Rivain, where you can finally see the smoky skinned dancers as they move to the enchanting rhythm of the drums. After that, maybe lose ourselves up in the Donarks for a time..."

On and on they talk about places they will never visit and wonders they will never behold, until the night grudgingly concedes defeat and makes way for the dawn.

Jowan appears to wake the pair but seems nonplussed when her discovers the lovers already in their armor. A quick peek at the blood mage makes it plain to them that he has slept as much as they have.

"Eliza and I got married last night," he offers in way of conversation as they languidly gather their friends from all around the camp.

"Congratulations little brother," Lynx genuinely smiles, then unwinds a green stone from one of her long braids and presses it into his hand, "This should help you guys get what you need for the little shit monster."

He returns her grin and bobs his head in acquiescence, "Thank you."

She nods as the trio come upon Alistair and Oghren, who have somehow ended up in the Chaisnd encampment. When the Templar senses their arrival, he swivels around and raises an ornately carved skull that holds a bottle in its cavity, "Want some head?"

Lynx flashes him a smirk, then takes a long swing of the potent liquor before passing it to the assassin standing at her right. "You've been woaded," she chuckles at the human and the dwarf, gesturing at the blue paint smeared over their hair and faces.

"Yeah, it kind of makes you feel invincible," he beams and takes a step back as the three newcomers are surrounded by people and painted themselves.

As they are being decorated, a familiar song seeps through the early morning mist. Minutes later, hundreds of men and women emerge from the fog wall, belting an ancient war song as they run.

Two warriors cleave off from the group and lope over to where Lynx, Jowan, and Zevran are presently sitting.

"What? Thought you'd go off and have your war without us little sister?" Aja's grin is more than slightly maniacal as she and her husband trade hugs and hand grasps with the comrades, "You should know better than that by now."

"Oh, you know how it is little sister," the apostate snickers after hitting the head one last time and passing it to the other woman, "I finally found something I can best you at and its eating you up, so you just had to come and crash the party."

"Okay, someone'd better explain why the two broads are callin' each other little sister," Oghren huffs, one meaty hand reaching out to pat the chieftainess on the rump.

"I'm older than Aja," the elf blood remarks while Oghren takes a step back at Kieran's protective growl.

"But I'm taller," the Chaisnd queen laughs and winks at the surly dwarf, "And my axe is a hell of a lot bigger than the toothpicks she carries around."

"Did you just admit that your ass is bigger than mine?" Lynx taunts, her gaze shifting to Gabriel, Morrigan, and Ruby as they weave their way through the growing crowd, "About time you admitted that."

"Is Alistair going to be running around the camp naked and singing again?" Gabriel whines and throws a hand over his eyes, "I was irreparably scarred the first time around and I'd hate a repeat."

"I think the was the only time I found myself jealous of our songbird," the Antivan wistfully sighs just as the Wynne and the woman in question appear, their eyes dark but smiling brightly.

As they converse, many of the Grey Wardens are stopped by the clan folk in order to be adorned with the paint and charms the barbarian tribe hold sacred.

Much too soon though, the men and women are ready and it's time to set out again, this time for the heart of Ferelden.

It's not until the companions reach the flaming gates of the capitol that anyone is observant enough to realize that their leader has once again shed her boots. Leliana opens her mouth to chastise the other woman, but Alistair raises a hand to interrupt, "Don't Leli. She moves better and faster without them weighing her down."

The commander gives them a sheepish grin after wiggling her toes then runs a blue tinted hand over her braid turned impromptu mohawk, "We are going to try to force the archdemon in the direction of Fort Drakon, since it's the highest point of the city. If we can get there, it will make it easier to ground the beastie and kill it."

"Who shall hold the gates once we pass through them?" Gabriel asks, his face slashed with jagged blue stripes.

Lynx waves a hand behind them, "We have a big fucking army on our asses Gabe, who the fuck do you think we're going to have hold the gates? Unless you're volunteering for the job?"

"By the Void no," he groans, then flinches at an explosion that booms through the market district, "I just wanted to be sure that we actually have an exit strategy."

"Kind of futile now, but you get ten points for trying to think ahead," she impishly grins, then taps her daggers to his long swords, "First to the roof of the Fort gets a skullfuck."

"What is that?" the redheaded human chirps.

"An entire bottle of head all to yourself," Zevran declares with a laugh, "Kieran told me about the tradition while we were on or bonding excursion."

Then the time for talking is over. The Warden brothers each give their sister a hug, whereas Zevran thoroughly plunders her mouth, leaving the white haired Greycloak wide eyed and a tad breathless.

With one last deep breath, Lynx steels herself, raises her father's blade over her head and charges into the ravaged city.


	59. Chapter 58

**All copyrighted stuff belongs to their respective owners.**

"I fucking despise ogres!" Lynx seethes and kicks a dead one in the head," They always feel a need to throw body parts at me!"

"Stop making such a good target then cara," Zevran chuckles at the sight of his lover hopping on one foot while rubbing the other as he takes a moment to re-coat his blades," You have a bit of brain clinging to your shoulder mi amore."

The woman flicks it off with a disgusted look, then digs through her bag to find a poultice for the ugly slice in her bicep, "Kieran is going to kick my ass if I ruin too many more of his tattoos."

"But your scars are all part of your irresistible charm," Alistair jokes, his gaze fixed on his injured wrist as he tests its mobility, "Do we have a head count of who was on this side when the bridge collapsed?"

The apostate does a rapid scan of the area, "All of our group, Riordan, Emilio, and about half of the other Greycloaks we brought with us. About fifty or so Chaisnd, thirty dwarves, I see half a dozen banged up mages, and a whole squad of Dalish archers. I don't see any of Anora or Eamon's soldiers, but they could be ahead of us."

"Not bad numbers," he answers, cringing as she quickly sets his wrist and heals it, "Our last stop is just that way anyways."

The cluster of warriors take a few minutes to catch their wind and recover some of their waning strength. No one fails to notice the absence of Riordan and approximately ten other Wardens when its time to press on.

Gabriel spies his sisters confusion, "Riordan said that he and the others came up with a plan to draw the archdemon to us."

"Any idea of what they cooked up?" she prods, then sighs when he gives her a negative reply, "Well, I guess we will simply have to trust that they know what they're doing then."

Morrigan sidles up to the elf blood as they work their way through the palace district, "How are your legs?"

The commander shrugs a shoulder, then is forced to roll it in an effort to work out the rigidity lodged in the joint, "I can't feel anything specific, with all the fighting and lyrium I've been downing. I just hurt everywhere and nowhere at the moment."

The swamp witch touches a bony hand to her spine and Lynx can feel the healing spell begin to cool her from the inside out, "Thank you Morrigan. I needed that more than I thought."

"Whether you care to believe me or not, I have come to care for you...sister," the human woman retorts, her ocher eyes ever watchful of their surroundings, "I hope that we will be able to remember one another fondly when this is done."

Lynx gives a respectful nod, making the trinkets in her braids clink and chime, "I think I'd like that too, sister."

Before either can say another word, the next wave of darkspawn flood the area.

Rain has begun to fall when they finally spot the archdemon gliding over the city on massive wings, half a dozen determined Grey Warden perched on its back and chopping away at the beasts thick hide.

"We have to hurry!" Lynx forces her group to pursue, wracked with pain each time one of her brave ilk loses their grip and are shaken off.

She's frozen to the steps that lead to the Fort when the last warrior plummets to their death, leaving the abomination screeching in agony as their long sword cuts a bloody gash down its ribs. Right as the man falls loose, he throws his sword wide and catches the tainted dragons wing. The blade shreds the paper thin flesh holding the appendage together and time slows for the onlookers as the archdemon first veers to the right, then left, and finally crashes on to the roof of the prison. The impact causes the entire fortress to shudder, making the group dive for cover when a chunk of concrete breaks free and tumbles straight down at them.

"Go! Go! Go!" she hears herself trumpet when the aftershocks have passed, then wills her legs into motion once more and makes a dash for the entrance.


	60. Chapter 59

**Getting really close to the end now...**

**And I still own nothing.**

The roof is the very embodiment of a massacre.

On one side of the carnage, Wynne lies in a motionless heap, with Ruby at her feet, a spear still lodged in the canine's side. The dwarves, their numbers more than halved, man the ballistae while their injured scurry to help with reloading the massive weapon. The Dalish and a squad of CHaisnd warriors fight to keep the darkspawn busy as the few mages in their midst prepare their next spells. The knights of Denerim and Redcliffe bark orders to their soldiers, keeping the bulk of the horde from heeding the cursed dragons cries for aid.

_The blood of men, elves, dwarva, and mages all run red together_ Lynx thinks to herself as she slips through a crimson pool and struggles to make her way back to the archdemon after being tossed like one of Spiorad's prized sticks _Only in death are we truly equal._

Her left arm hangs limp at her side, completely useless, so she unsteadily puts away her daggers and shrugs off the staff her Antivan had given her.

The blight ridden dragon's screams of agony nearly make the elf blood's ears bleed as she gets close enough to see the dozen or so warriors deplete the last vestiges of their-and the beasts-strength.

A large wound on the underside of its neck gushes ichor, and suddenly Lynx has an idea. "Go for the bastard's throat, near the base! Maybe we can decapitate this fucker if we concentrate our strikes in the same area!"

Everyone redirects their angle of attack, minimizing their own losses. Before long they have a surge of energy and simultaneously drive their weapons into the creature's head and long spindly neck.

Suddenly they are blinding by a beam of light that flares from the stump of the archdemon's neck, then are thrown across the roof again when a sonic wave washes over them.

"Aurora, can you hear me? Per favore, non lasciarmi solo in questo modo il mio amore," her favorite voice in the world calls out, the aroma of honey, leather, and cloves plying at her senses, "Non dopo siamo sopravvissuti così tanto. Aurora, say something if you can hear me."

Violet orbs slowly reveal themselves to shimmering golden ones, "Are we dead?"

Zevran's scabbed knuckles graze her aching cheek, "I do not think that it would hurt this badly if we had passed on, so no, I would have to say that we will find our fortunes amongst the living for a while longer."

The mage is slow and careful as she sits up on the cot, "Where are the others?"

"We lost Wynne and Ruby, of that I am certain. Gabriel and Morrigan have not been found but are also presumed dead," the elf confesses, his breath trembling,, "Leliana is comatose and Alistair is currently under powerful sleeping spells so his shattered arm can be properly mended. Jowan is safe with Eliza and they are out aiding at the refugee camps. Kieran and Aja only suffered minor wounds, though I am saddened to say that not all of your brethren were so fortunate."

"What about my pup?" she glances around the tent, only to pale when she discovers no trace of her faithful hound, "Zev, where is Spiorad?"

"He is resting by one of the bonfires mi amore, grieving for his lost friends," her assassin informs her as he takes a seat on the meager bed, "He was in here with you until I woke up almost an hour ago."

"Who took the final blow?"

"Appena sveglio e già pieno di domande, braska sei una donna testarda," Zevran gingerly takes her into his arms, "No one has been able to figure that conundrum out dea. There were so many dead up on that roof that it has proven impossible to identify some of the remains. I fear Gabriel and his witch will be among them."

"She called me sister, just after we smashed our way through the palace district," his lover sighs while she idly inspects the various wounds riddling his chest, arms, and face, "She said she hoped that we would remember each other fondly, once everything was done. Maybe Morrigan knew that she and Gabe were going to die up there."

"I cannot say, mi amore, but I have borne witness to too many extraordinary things in the past year to simply discredit the possibility outright," his eyes begin to droop with fatigue as they curl around one another, "Perhaps this will give Morrigan and Wynne a chance to sort out their differences though, yes?"

Lynx feels her body relax as her Antivan's drowsiness begins to infect her as well, "Perhaps. But there is something in my gut telling me that we haven't yet seen the last of the witch or her pet noble."

She doesn't hear his mumbled answer.

**Translations-**

**Per favore, non lasciarmi solo in questo modo il mio amore-Please do not leave me alone in this way my love**

**Non dopo siamo sopravvissuti così tanto-Not after we have survived so much**

**Appena sveglio e già pieno di domande-Barely awake and already full of questions**

**braska sei una donna testarda- braska you are a stubborn woman**


	61. Chapter 60 The Epilogue

The next few months come and go in relative silence since many are still mourning their lost comrades and loved ones even as they initialize reconstruction efforts that reach to every corner of Ferelden.

Leliana emerges from her coma a week after the battle's end and is appointed an advisory post by the queen soon after. As much as Alistair loves his songbird, he cannot hide his glee at not being chosen to attend the dozens of court functions that ensue.

Jowan and Eliza's daughter makes an early appearance just weeks after that and, despite her small size, soon proves herself strong enough to beat the odds. The couple opt to name the girl Wynne, in honor of the senior enchanter and her own willful spirit.

Oghren, reunited with Felsi just before the battle of Denerim, grudgingly accepts an officers post in the queens army after learning of his own impending fatherhood.

On the anniversary of the battle of Ostagar, Anora holds a celebration in honor of the Heroes of Ferelden.

Lynx and Zevran, forever on their guard, are forced to make a decision that night when an old enemy shows itself amidst the revelry. It is a decision that will change their lives.

"Ma'arlath, emma nan'mi," the hedge mage declares as she shoulders her bag.

"Tutto quello che sono ti appartiene la mia dea," her assassin vows, then gives her a hungry kiss before mounting his horse, "We will see each other soon enough cara."

Lynx, for appearances sake, climbs on to her own horse. Then, with one last look at Zevran, she kicks the beast into a canter leading the opposite way of her lover...and into the unknown.

**Well, this is the end of the road guys, the culmination of over a year's work. I might revisit this merry group of lunatics in the future, but only time will tell. **

**I do want to thank all who have read, lurked, and reviewed...and flash my special salute to the haters one last time.**

**Keelah Se'Lai, Grazie, Ma Serranas, Go Raibh Maith Agat, Thank you.**


	62. Cyberbullying is a Crime

**As posted on my profile.**

**Oh, and I've heard that the LU (Literate Union) is back on the prowl, trolling and harassing authors everywhere. You've tried to take me down before and LOST, so don't bother. I'm neither amused nor intimidated by your antics. Just go back to your corner and play god amongst yourselves, the rest of us have better things to do.**

**On that note, I am encouraging authors/readers to report any reviews/PMs you receive from any member of the LU or other gang-banging flamers club then IMMEDIATELY block them from being able to contact you. Always remember,**

**CYBERBULLYING IS A CRIME.**


	63. Info on The Sequel

**The sequel has arrived! It's called Chasing Shadows so go give it a look.**


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